If I wanted to assimilate to the British culture, I’d have to start with pronouncing events correctly. Within weeks of settling in, I learned Ascot was “As-kit” not “As-cot” and the oldest well-known and prestigious tennis tournament in the world was not Wimbleton, but Wimbledon, with a “d” sound, just as it is spelled. I’m not sure how I came to know this, maybe seeing the word splashed on the front page of the sports section of the Guardian, or hearing it pronounced on BBC One. All I knew was if I wanted to fit in and take advantage of everything on offer, I’d need to be attentive.
So when I found out Patty, our neighbor across the hall, was an avid tennis fan, I asked her about the event. She had been three times and said it was definitely worth going to, that is, if we could get tickets. We quickly learned there were six ways to secure tickets. The first way was through a “ballot” or lottery. The deadline for entering was five months earlier in January, so that was out. Second, we could join the “queue”. Fans line up and wait hours, even overnight in hopes of snagging a “one per person” ticket. Were we that lucky? That left, number three, the ticket resale. On each day of play when a person leaves a game early, their ticket becomes available to buy. Not a bad option if there’s a lot of time left to a game. The fourth way was to buy a hospitality package through the broker Keith Prowse. Tickets end up costing more than face value and sell out fast, so we missed that chance. Option five was to purchase a debenture which allows a person to buy a ticket for a specific seat for each day of the two-week tournament for…get this…five years! Very expensive, but a seat is guaranteed with ace views of “centre” court. We planned on living there for only one more year, so that didn’t work. And the last way, number six, was to become a professional coach – ha! Not likely in our lifetimes, so we threw our names into the lottery for the following year.
The Championships Wimbledon, or Wimbledon as it’s commonly referred as, has been played at the All England Lawn Tennis Club in the town of Wimbledon since 1877. Unique to this Grand Slam is, it’s the only one that has a curfew! Eleven p.m. and its lights out. Beginning in late June, this tournament lasts a fortnight and is steeped in many traditions. I learned of the most famous one perhaps, when I overheard a man talking to a cashier at our local grocery store one July morning in the mid-80s.
From my journal: July 6, 1986, Redondo Beach, California
“The guy in front of us at Lucky’s bought a couple of baskets of strawberries and whipped cream…(he) said they were for Breakfast at Wimbledon. Nice!”
Yes, serving up fresh juicy strawberries drizzled with thick cold cream may be the top tasty tradition that visitors can rely on. Or it could be a toss-up between that treat and the Pimms Cup, a libation that blends gin, lemonade, fruit, cucumbers, and mint. Depending on your taste buds, it could even be a tie.
Among the non-consumable traditions are players wearing tennis whites only, a rule that is strictly enforced. And when it comes to preserving the beauty of the courts, advertising is always kept to a bare minimum and from September to June great care is given to the ryegrass, ensuring that it is in pristine condition for the games.
In addition, spectators can always count on a few other things. Like any British event, royalty is ever present, and Wimbledon is no exception. Containing 74 luxury seats, the Royal Box is reserved exclusively for the Royals, government heads, and other VIPS. If watching on TV, cameras always hover long enough to see who is seated there, while commentators explain who is who. Then there are the Ball Girls and Boys, performing their critical job of fetching balls and more importantly, staying out of the way. Prior to these matches, about 1,000 girls and boys apply for the coveted 250 spots. Once selected, they go through rigorous training to stay in top form. And of course, there’s Rufus the Hawk. With his official title of “Bird Scarer” he arrives at Wimbledon every year to keep unwelcome birds at bay, and chase pigeons away!
With all this pomp and circumstance, we kept our fingers crossed in hopes of being chosen to attend. And lo and behold, the Tennis Gods smiled down on us.
From my journal: March 3, 2008, E. Twickenham, England
“We got tickets to Wimbledon – so excited! Even better, they are for the Ladies’ Final…unbelievable!”
As soon as we knew we were going, we began planning. How would we get there? What time should we leave? And what could we bring? The only question remaining was which world-famous athletes were we going to see play?
A Journal Journey 