I Say, the Olympics Go To Wimbledon

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WIMBLEDON WELCOMES THE WORLD IN TECHNICOLOR

In the provocative retro movie, Pleasantville, a pleasant, safe suburb is always pictured in black and white until independent, up-to-date, risk-taking thought comes into play. Then the movie is in color.

Supposedly conservative, old-fashioned Wimbledon actually takes many a risk and continually updates itself. Still, the Olympics version of the All-England Club was Wimbledon on steroids. After all, Wimbledon is all about soft and subtlety, a medley of country green shades. All is muted, understated, refined – so easy on the eye.

Now we had flash mobs on Henman Hill and bold neon pastel court coverings – a hot pinkish purple (let’s call it fuchsia) and a vibrant purple. This was rock and roll at La Scala – oh dear. This was the Muslim call to prayer at the Vatican – dear Jesus – or a mobile home at the Taj Mahal – I say.

Now so much was loud at tennis’ first church of the subdued.

It was simply odd. It was odd to see vast graphics dominating usually sedate walls that over eight decades never had the temerity to shout out for attention. It was odd not to see the linesman in their oh-so-properly coordinated Edwardian unnies. They looked so ordinary. (Hey, aren’t you supposed to dress up when you go to church?) It was odd to see ball boys in bright blue outfits and Serena in a red-white and blue dress or Federer in a red Swiss shirt or his American coach Paul Annacone in a red cap which read, “Swiss Olympic Team.”

Of course, there were celebs on hand. No not Prince William, Kate or the Queen. It was our Queen (so to speak), First Lady Michelle Obama, who was at both the Opening Ceremony (where Novak Djokovic and seven other tennis players were flag carriers) and the U.S. Open last year. But there were vast stretches of empty seats, and when Federer went out to practice, only six fans watched. At Wimbledon he would have been mobbed.

At the Olympics there were key differences from Grand Slam play. Men’s matches seemed lightning fast, just the best of three sets. The broadcast was on a new station, Bravo, and had unusual advertisers (like the one for the upcoming gig of a reggae singer at a gambling joint). And there were some unusual broadcasters, such as Pat O’Brien, who is known more for fluffy entertainment pieces.

Of course, there was little that was fluffy about feisty Ryan Harrison slamming his racket to the unhappy turf as he went down in defeat or Serena Williams, who started where she left off three weeks ago with power aces and forehand winners, as she demolished Jelena Jankovic 6-3, 6-1 and kept alive her dream of winning Wimbledon and an Olympic Gold within weeks on sacred courts that somehow retain their aura, no matter how sacrilegious the world is about them.