Wimbledon’s all birds and beers
WIMBLEDON— Tit.
Yes, I can say that in print and not get taken to task by the Public Editor. Titititititititiititiit. A tit is a bird, pretty little thing. One landed on Centre Court during the first-round match between defending champion Novak Djokovic and Philipp Kohlschreiber. And lingered, utterly unruffled by the ball behind thwacked around him (or her).
Djokovic was enchanted and cooed at the interloper.
“Where I come from, Belgrade, there’s a special sparrow. I believe this bird came all the way from there to help me.”
Helped him to a straight-sets elimination of the hard-hitting German. Who dares suggest otherwise?
“But I was feeling for its safety. I mean, it just loves tennis.
“At one point when Kohlschreiber was serving at the advantage side, the bird landed literally very close to the sideline. She stayed there until I won the point. So I said, ‘Be my guest, stay around if you want.’
“The bird from Belgrade really stayed for the entire match.”
It’s taken me five days to tell that story because it didn’t fit anywhere into the tennis reportage. But as the first week of Wimbledon draws to a close, time to take a backward look at some of the events and impressions of SW19.
Quite an eventful week it’s been on the courts, if disappointing for Canadian tennis fans who had set their hearts on Eugenie Bouchard and Milos Raonic. Her first-round ouster was hardly a surprise, given the horrific year she’s endured after such spectacular success in 2014. Raonic bowing out to upstart enfant terrible Nick Kyrgios is another matter. Can’t say we didn’t entirely not see that coming — the 20-yearold Aussie had a few top-seed scalps on his belt this past season. But getting out-blasted on the ace front? Blame Raonic’s right foot, the trotter which underwent surgery for a pinched nerve merely five weeks ago. Certainly Raonic did — lay the blame, I mean.
Hey, my feet are blistered too, humping from tube to the All-England Club, at least until discovery of the share-taxi system. Just a couple o’ quid and lots of jolly conversation with fans holding tickets as we cruise by the unbelievably long lineup for those — often arriving in the wee hours — who are taking a shot at the Queue. That’s a nice feature of Wimbledon, holding a limited number of tickets every day (except the final four days) for even the marquee matches on Centre Court. It’s unclear how many ducats are available but hundreds of tennis devotees patiently wait in what have been blistering temperatures until the announcement is made that there are more people in the line than can be accommodated, though thousands of ground passes also go up for sale. Wimbledon remains one of the few sports events anywhere than the ordinary tosser still has a chance, without turning to scalpers (of which there are precious few). The Leafs should take a page out of that book.
Anyway, this isn’t supposed to be a sports column, so we’ll leave off the tennis now and focus our attention elsewhere.
The bottom of this glass, for instance.
It’s a Pimm’s slushie, the newfangled libation added to the concession menu this year. Frothy twist on the traditional Pimm’s — of which 230,000 glasses will be consumed over this fortnight at the All-England Club. Special ingredient: cordial, in orange or lemon barley flavour.
Frankly, I do not recommend it. Tastes foul. As someone nearby said: “Tastes like ear wax.” Allow me to crunch some more numbers gustatory numbers: 142,000 portions of English strawberries (another tradition), 350,000 cups of tea and coffee, 190,000 sandwiches, 6,000 stone-baked pizzas, 32,000 portions of fish ’n’ chips, 100,000 pints of beer, 78,000 bottles of champagne, 12,000 kilos of poached and smoked salmon, 60,000 sausage baguettes and 15,000 bananas (but only for the players).
Some 207,000 meals will be prepared. If you’re a member of the All-England Club, of course, you can take those meals in the members’ enclosure, segregated from the hoi polloi. But members — male members, you should forgive the expression — also tend to tog up in the formal ensemble of champagnecoloured duck-pants and navy blazers with piping. This announces to everyone: I am a MEMBER. It also announces: I am a poncey, class-obsessed dork.
No members’ entrée for this girl from the colonies, of course, oh boo-hoo. Wouldn’t rub shoulders with that lot for . . . all the Pimm’s in England.
There are apparently more celebrities around than you can shake a stick at. (But not one of those ridiculous selfie sticks, which officials have wisely banned from the ground.) Since these alleged boldface types are pretty much all stars of British film and TV, I don’t recognize a one. But then I didn’t recognized Toronto’s Drake, either, when he showed up at a Serena Williams press conference.
And the WAGS, don’t forget them — wives and girlfriends, including Raonic’s gorgeous Guess model arm-candy, and, thus far anyway, just one (1) recognizable member of the royal family, Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall, a.k.a. Prince Charles’ WAG, which rhymes with . . . oh never mind.
Pint of Stella please — official beer of Wimbledon. Really, boss, working my fingers to the bone. Off with my head: The Queen does not make $450 million a year, as erroneously stated in this space Thursday. That’s her net worth. She hauls down £17.8 million annually from the Privy Purse. And the King of Thailand’s net worth is $30 billion. Apologies to all royals who may have been maligned. Rosie DiManno usually appears Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.