Wednesday, September 07, 2005

Samosas with Martina... -27 June 2005


Martina from 5 feet away! I didn’t even imagine it when I woke up Monday morning — my stomach still feeling the continuous assault of food from the previous day (a lazy Thames walk with friends, Brick Lane and all...). I was still hesitant about going to Wimbledon when I left our friend’s flat in Camberwell Green around 10, but finally decided to take the underground to Southfields as TimeOut had suggested. The decision to walk 15 minutes to the club instead of taking the special bus from the station turned out right, I realized, when I appeared near the end of the queue in five – the remaining 10 minutes of walk taken up by the queue in front. It was about 11 then and my negative mind was already making alternative plans for things I could do that day when the counter slammed shut on my face. But as soon as I joined the queue, I was handed a book on 'A Guide to Queueing for The Championships’ by one steward and ‘a queue card’ for Monday 27th June with the number 4820 printed on it by another. There are some 6000 daily tickets available for the first 9 days or so and and thus I felt quite reassured that I was going to see at least some Boys’ and Girls’ Doubles action as the provisional programme had slated for that day. (Srimati had already said in the morning, “So what if they are not the stars, surely they must play better than most of you.” And this I couldn't counter, of course.) Another steward approached and admonished me that the queue card was valuable because I would need to show it at the ticket counter to purchase the ticket. Yet another asked me if I would like a sticker on my shirt that said 'I was in the daily ticket queue at Wimbledon' or something like that; this I declined - but not before making sure that I didn't need to show it somewhere along the way.

After I read the queueing code of conduct and the rest of the guide end to end, I remembered that I had a Peter Mayle in my backpack. Yes, I was ready with a backpack because I had looked up the size limits for admissions on the web and accordingly made my lightest ever international journeys. With the Peter Mayle and some queue amusement, an hour in that mile long line flew by rather quickly. With the #4820 queue card, there was no choice of obtaining one of the 500 odd tickets for the center court and courts 1 or 2 for the day (for which people have to camp out every night) and so after I and my belongings got searched, I purchased the grounds tickets for the day for 16 pounds (‘the turnstiles will accept cash only to reduce the time for transactions’, pronounced Rule number 26) which entitled me "to view such matches as may be played on Monday 27th June...entry to the grounds including free access to Courts 2 (standing) and 3-19.…”

I emerged on the other side of the gate and into the "grounds" beaming with excitement paralleled only by having just played a good opponent. Deciding not to pay another 6.50 for the day's programme, instead I went across the mall - filled with equally excited people with colourful clothes and hats (reminded me for some reason of someone’s painting of Ascot, or could it be My Fair Lady?) and a few boys and girls weighed down with their massive tennis gear on the way to their respective rendezvous' on the courts but still with their too-cool-to-be-bothered rigid faces on to negotiate the masses - to a huge board with all of the day's matches on all the courts. Nalbandian’s match had already started on Court 2 and so that would do if I could get in. Waiving good-bye to Court 1 to the right (which appears like a big stadium in itself similar to the Center Court), I rounded the Center Court in the direction of Court 2. As I was approaching it, I saw that the people in the top row of the stands in Court 3 were all looking into Court 2. Clever: this way one could see whichever match was interesting from the same spot by just turning around. I quickly abandoned the hope of Court 2 as the crowds outside the entrance seemed overwhelming and concentrated my efforts on Court 3. From one of the exits to Court 3, I caught a glimpse of Mary Pierce and joined the overflowing crowd there. Slowly I made my way to the front of the exit and then sweettalked the guard into joining the layers of crowds on the closeby sidelines – the sidelines so close to the court that by the time Pierce’s match with Pennetta had ended I was within just a few feet of the edge of the court, and on some shots their racquets were almost within a hand’s reach. I don’t think I have come so close to any stars ever – it was quite overwhelming seeing their reactions and expressions when the shots were missed or made (Pennetta’s I mean, Mary Pierce rarely shows any expressions) or when they were truly out of their wits with an impossible shot by the opponents. The match ended in two sets 6-3, 6-3, I think, but it was more hard fought and enjoyable than that. Looking around me, it was clear that the biggest thing Wimbledon has going for it is the tickets solds on the day of the play, without which most people around me wouldn’t have managed to see the match either. After the match, I stayed on not wanting to leave my baseline position thinking, well, it is Court 3, surely someone decent might show up for the next match, cursing myself for not looking up the programme on the web or not buying it earlier.

Based on the size of lettering and “miss” in front, the next slate was certainly the women’s doubles – the names a bit hard to see in the angle of the 2 o’clock Sun. OK, I will watch a bit and then move on to some other courts, I thought. And then entered the players, and I couldn’t believe my eyes: there she was, Martina. As the match unfolded, it was clear that she was in a pretty good form, and pretty quick. I was not leaving my baseline position for anything. The camera clicked and clicked and then clicked again…a few balls even landed on me – I guess it was the right angle for smashes.

About now, I was hungry and I remembered the samosas I had bought the previous day from a shop on Brick Lane and I thought, so what if they are not strawberries and cream. And that’s how I had my lunch, taking bites of cold but delicious samosas about five-ten feet away by one my all time favourite players. Martina could have reached out for one if she was not busy with her match.

Satiated, I saw the rapid fire first set of Gonzales vs. Youzhny – no racquet throwing though - and by then it was quarter of 4. I had to reach Heathrow by 5:30 or so and so I made a quick trip through the other courts with boys and girls and while rounding off the courts saw the end of Paes/Zimonic doubles which they won with a tiebreaker, and then left the grounds in a hurry. As the special bus was passing the queue, I realized that the end of the queue was exactly where I had joined it. That was the queue for the 5 o’clock entry for reselling the tickets of people like me who were leaving early. I felt bad for not ‘scanning’ my ticket upon leaving as Rule number 49 had indicated so that the ticket could be resold for charity later in the day; some poor soul may not be able to enter as a result. I will remember to do that the next time…but who knows, I might try ‘the public ballot’.

[footnote: Srimati’s post-colon title for this is ‘Wimbledon and Governmentality’]