A Day At Wimbledon

It all started as a crazy idea on a Tuesday evening. I was sitting glued to the "box" watching Pancho Gonzales' wonderful victory over Charlie Pasarell. It was at the moment of Pancho's great success that I was overcome by an insatiable urge to see tennis in the flesh. This urge was, hardly in keeping with my ability - I'm not particularly brilliant at the game. But displaying a tremendous amount of tact, I managed to scrounge a whole pound from my parents.

This art work appeared on the
"A Day At Wimbledon" page
- it may not be relevant to the story!		 When I arrived at Wimbledon, the following Saturday, the thing that impressed me most was the areas rurality; acres of rich green soil, surrounded by peaceful, untouched countryside, all this bathed in the rich, bright sun - beauty complementing beauty.

My first impression of the centre court was one of surprise at its size - it was so much smaller than I had expected. At 1.45 p.m., the Duke and Duchess of Kent, and the Earl of St. Andrews took their seats, and, moments later, the two players entered the arena - first Arthur Ashe, then Pancho Gonzales. These players knocked-up and Gonzales was first to serve.


For the first few minutes it was very tense, both players breaking each other's service but gradually the older man began to establish his superiority. After twenty five minutes' play he was leading by five games to three and the first set seemed to be his for the asking. But it was not to be. Fine retaliation by Ashe won him the first set 7 - 5. But, Gonzales snapped back, to equalise 6 - 4; could he do it? Ashe took the third and fourth sets 6 - 3, however, to win a place in the quarter finals. The emotion of those final moments was something that cannot be recorded in words, and it made me realise what not only tennis, not only sport, but all life itself is about.

After catching glimpses of Ann Jones and Billie-Jean King in play, I decided it was time to make for home. It was quite dark when I finally reached home, and I had a long story to recount to my parents.

No wonder I want to go again this year!

Paul Gibbens, 3C


| 1969 Magazine Index | HOME |