Dare I encroach on James Delingpole’s TV territory and ask what has happened to Wimbledon? A crying jag in public would surely have embarrassed Baron von Cramm, a three-time losing finalist, not to mention Rod Laver, Roy Emerson and John Newcombe, all three multiple winners of the crown. Back in my time, Lew Hoad won it and I took him to Les Ambassadeurs nightclub, owned by John Mills, no relation to the actor. No one recognised him, which was fine with Lew. So he did the same in 1957, murdering Ashley Cooper in the process, and once again we went out and got smashed near Hyde Park Corner. No one, not even the women, cried back then, especially in public and on the telly. Angela Mortimer, Ann Jones, even Ginny Wade in the Jubilee Year, would not have dreamt of it. All three are Brits and all three are Wimbledon winners. Angela’s hubby made mincemeat of Taki in the Wimbledon doubles in 1957, and I remember him looking at me with amazement as I kept wiping my very red and swollen eyes. Hay fever, I told him, and he sighed with relief.
When did the crying start? I’ve no idea, but I remember when Pete Sampras did it in the middle of a match — his coach had just died of leukemia — so he had a valid excuse. That was about ten years ago. Then the greatest of them all, Roger Federer, cried in Paris, and it’s been downhill ever since. Mind you, although not a Murray fan, I totally understand his emotional state after a great final. He had really given it his all, and even more, so he was drained of everything, including emotional control. What really peed me off, however, were not the players crying, but that nice Sue Barker giving a platform to the likes of Serena Williams to play the eternal victim and to thank everyone under the stars for helping her win her fifth title.
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