Wimbledon

Apparently I am having a controversial few days.

My last post on fox hunting is in keeping with most people’s desire to have the ban stay in place, but not many people would say they dislike foxes.  Oh well.  It’s true and I stand by it.  I also don’t like hamsters, in case you want to be super offended.

This pales into insignificance compared to my Facebook post of yesterday though…

I publicly backed Novak Djokovic to win the men’s final.  Yes, I did.  Against Roger Federer.  (I wish I could insert a dramatic sound clip here, but I can’t because I am not clever enough!)  It caused absolute outrage!!  I thought there was going to be de-friendings, seriously!

Now, I have to confess, I know absolutely nothing about tennis.  I grew up not far from Wimbledon and as an adult, I cursed the difference that it caused in traffic.  I really, really hated it when I worked in Wimbledon too.  That was an absolute nightmare.  Anyway, I digress.  I didn’t even know who was in the final until the Daily Mail told me so.  (P.S.  Yay for them getting something right!)

The reason I backed Djokovic to win is simple:  Federer has gotten too big for his tennis shoes, in my opinion.  There was quote from him saying that Wimbledon’s all white dress code was ridiculous.

Here’s an idea, dude… if you don’t like the rules then don’t compete there.  Simples.

You might think that given my lack of interest in the sport in general, that my annoyance at this is a bit strange, but here is what I think:

1.  I am a bit of a traditionalist at times.  I like that Wimbledon has remained greatly unchanged over the years.  I love eating strawberries and cream.  I missed Sir Cliff having a sing along in the rain this year.  I like seeing the tennis players in whites, and not looking like a paint pot puked all over them.

2.  This is the world #2 tennis player.  He has sponsorship deals coming out of his waszoo.  The all white rule is NOT difficult for him.  He can turn to whomever it is that dresses him (yep… care that little that I don’t even know!) and they will make him whatever he chooses.  So, stop bitching and be thankful that Wimbledon at least stops you looking like a complete and utter prat.

Rant over.

So, with this in mind, imagine how smug I was to find out that my guy had won!

Thank you Wimbledon Gods for putting this strange little man firmly back in his place!

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