‘X Factor’ meets boot camp – my gruelling day at ball boy school
There is no hiding place if you want a spot on Centre Court, discovers Charlie Eccleshare
Iam standing motionless on a sweltering indoor tennis court, focusing all my energies on not fainting. I have spent the last few minutes jogging, then attempting star jumps, lunges, kicks and, finally, some sprints.
Now, I have been told that for three minutes I must stand stock still. When you feel completely breathless, this is far harder than it sounds. I am suddenly aware of my heart pounding through my chest and how loudly I am breathing.
The reason for this masochism is that I am at the All England Club observing how the Wimbledon Ball Boys and Ball Girls (BBGS) prepare for the challenge of hurling balls around Centre Court while managing to have not so much as a hair out of place. To get the best idea of their preparation, I foolishly requested to take part in their training.
As anyone who has ever watched Wimbledon will know, the BBGS operate with military precision, but the process of getting to that point takes months of arduous preparation.
First, about 1,000 14-18-yearolds from a mixture of local state and private schools apply for that year’s Championships, of whom approximately 250 are selected. About 160 are year nine and 10 students, while the remaining 90 are BBGS with previous Wimbledon experience.
The chosen 250 train for 2½ hours every week from February until the tournament starts in July, learning the craft of rolling and feeding as well as developing their fitness and the necessary iron discipline and concentration.
BBGS can be kicked out at any point if they are not deemed up to scratch, learning their fate with a dreaded email, like a version of
The X Factor, but much more humane – and for athletic, tennismad teenagers.
Playing the role of Simon Cowell is firm but fair Sarah Goldson, a PE teacher and tennis umpire. She says that to excel, BBGS need “fitness, discipline, and a strong tennis knowledge”.
“But number one,” she adds pointedly, “is the ability to listen to instructions and act on them.”
These considerations will help decide who stays and who goes, and which teams of six will get the prized Centre Court and Court No1 gig.
In total, four teams will operate on the two main courts, while six teams rotate around the other show courts and the rest take care of the remaining courts.
In a move designed to help soften the blow for those jettisoned or put on a smaller court, Goldson explains that BBGS are known not by their name but by a number.
“It exists because there’s a military background to what we do but also because we don’t want to make the training personal. Once you get to know someone too well they think it’s personal if they don’t make it, so it’s easier if it’s a number.”
I am sent on my way with these ominous words, and the training session begins with a written test, which the aspiring BBGS do a version of every few weeks.
The questions are about BBG formations – who should be where in different scenarios – and tennis rules and scoring conventions. As the teenagers scribble their answers eagerly, I feel like I am in my recurring anxiety dream, sitting an exam I have failed to revise for.
The 50 BBGS and me then begin today’s training session proper, which, after a call to arms from Goldson, feels as though we are heading into battle.
“There’s no hiding place,” she tells us. “There are supervisors on every court, so no slacking. Your Wimbledon spot could be on the line.”
We start with rolling and feeding exercises. “The court is for the players, not for us,” an instructor yells at me after another errant throw. “The ball should roll along the floor,” he adds despairingly.
While I struggle, everyone else is thriving and seems genuinely to delight in the process.
Niall O’connor – or, rather, No 228 – is in his second year as a Wimbledon ball boy, aged 15, and says the training is demanding but stimulating and that it is all worth it for the “amazing” experience of stepping on to Wimbledon’s hallowed grass.
“I get goosebumps,” he admits. “I couldn’t sleep the night before I first did it because I was so excited.”
Emily Chong, also 15, is another second-year BBG. She has no hesitation in picking her highlight – “I ball-girled for Rafael Nadal, which was just incredible” – although even that was not without its challenges.
Nadal’s multitude of tics and special requests, like always needing two towels at the end of points, are notorious, but he is not alone. The players’ various neuroses are so widespread that the BBGS produce a dossier listing all their foibles.
“There’s a sheet in the BBG complex that lists all the players’ particular things,” Chong explains. “We all add to it during the tournament.”
BBGS must also get used to
dealing with demanding and angry players – last year the Frenchman Adrian Mannarino barged a ball boy on court – although thankfully such incidents are rare.
After the running warm-up we settle into position to simulate a match. One of the coaches playing the match behaves as though he is John Mcenroe having just been given a parking ticket. “Concentrate! You’re being assessed! What do you think you’re doing?” he screams at No 91 for making a tiny mistake.
After 2½ hours, the session concludes, and all that is left is to get my written test back. Initially I am buoyed by seeing 10/18.
But then comes the bombshell: I was meant to put an X next to the correct answer, and instead I put a tick. So my test is void – it is 0/18, year nine physics all over again.
I look over at Goldson, who shakes her head. I know what she is thinking: “What did I tell you? Number one is listening to instructions and acting on them.” I have singularly failed. Fortunately, the players at Wimbledon will be in far safer hands over the next fortnight.
‘You have to be able to listen to orders and act on them’