Wimbledon

(7-8-06)

This afternoon I headed into London in the hopes of catching at least a part of the biggest tennis tournament in the world. I stopped in at the tourist office to ask about my chances of getting in and was told not to bother--tickets were sold out a long time ago and I would have no chance of getting in. Nevertheless, I was so desperate to see a game of live tennis (since until today the only games I had ever been a spectator to were at the XZ ranch) that I hopped on the bus and headed over to the complex. When I arrived, there was a line about a mile long of people waiting to get into the grounds. I hopped in line under the premise that I had once waited in a 4 hour line to spend five minutes looking at a coffin that contained the remains of Ronald Reagan, so I could at least wait an hour and a half to see some of the best tennis ever played. Within 15 minutes, the women's final had just finished, and they were waving me through (since many people were leaving the grounds at this point). As I could hear that the men's doubles final was about to start on court 1, I quickly threw down an extra 13 pounds in order to watch what promised to be the best match of the tournament. I found my seat and was immediately overwhelmed by the excitement of the atmosphere around me. The next thing I noticed was that the Bryan brothers were quite a bit older looking than what I remembered from watching them on TV. To my horror and disappointment, the match I was expecting to see was over in "Centre Court," where I couldn't get access to with my ticket. Instead, I was watching the "Old" Men's Doubles Final. Nevertheless, I still had a blast watching some amazing volleys in the very tournament where Andre Agassi played his last game. As I was watching them, I couldn't help thinking that if I kept working on my serve and made friends with Maria Sharapova, there's no reason I couldn't at least qualify for the 2036 mixed geezer doubles bracket of the tournament. Of course that is assuming I'm not in Pamplona that year running the bulls (since work schedule did not permit that opportunity this go around). After the game I caught the bus back to central London just in time to catch the 22,338th performance of "The Mousetrap." It was an unbelievable show, and I can see why it has been packing in the seats for 54 years--the world's longest run. While I will keep the time honored tradition of not revealing who dunnit, I will tell you that Agatha Christie is a genius--I was way off in my guess.