Standing in Line , livre ebook

Pitch Publishing Ltd - Benjamin Chatfield

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181 pages

English

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Standing in Line is a humorous memoir, based on a variety of experiences in The Queue, one of sport's most fascinating traditions. Told through the eyes of a ten-year-old boy becoming a 39-year-old man, it is a love letter both to Wimbledon and to the wonder of British summertime. Watching the Championships is a national pastime, and this book is full of the ups and downs out on court, as well as the memorable pop-cultural moments off it. It is set against the desperate wait for a British Gentlemen's champion, viewed against the global reality show Wimbledon has become - transcending sport and class, yet still embracing tradition. Illustrated with drawings from renowned artist and author Zebedee Helm, the book observes both the changing world around us and the behaviour of the half-million fans who cram themselves into this leafy corner of London for two weeks every year. Standing in Line is a joyful, gently nostalgic read for anyone who has found themselves gazing for hours on end at coverage of Wimbledon.

Sujets

Philosophie et théologie

Gran Londres

Memoir

Greater London

Tennis

Grand Londres

London

Informations

Publié par	Pitch Publishing Ltd
Date de parution	01 mai 2018
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781785314162
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	4 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

First published by Pitch Publishing, 2018 Pitch Publishing A2 Yeoman Gate Yeoman Way Durrington BN13 3QZ
www.pitchpublishing.co.uk
Ben Chatfield, 2018
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
A CIP catalogue record is available for this book from the British Library
Print ISBN 978-1-78531-360-8 eBook ISBN 978-1-78531-416-2
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CONTENTS
An Introduction To The Book
The Complete Works Of The All England Lawn Tennis Croquet Club (Abridged)
The Tennis Calendar And The Grand Slam
The Basics
Rufus The Hawk s-Eye View Of The Grounds
Mind Your Ps And Queues: How To Behave
25 June 2013
The Diary 1984-2013
Wimbleballs
How Not To Dress For Wimbledon (Part 1)
White Noise (Part 1)
White Noise (Part 2)
The Daily Smash
The University Of (Queue) Life
Undercrackers
How Not To Dress For Wimbledon (Part 2)
When In Wombledon, Do As Wombles Do
Epilogue
Outtakes
Read On
In memory of Peter Doohan 1961-2017
Endnotes
For Victoria
I have spoken to Ben twice. Once on a tube train, and once on the phone in 2014, when he interviewed me about my match with Boris Becker in 1987, for which I had more than my 15 minutes of fame. On both occasions he struck me as strangely, almost unsettlingly, knowledgeable about my life and tennis career. But it is this attention to detail which made me want to read this, an almost alternative history to Wimbledon in the modern era, as these poor limeys searched desperately for a champion. Thank God they found Andy. Or else he might have never left me alone.
Peter Doohan, AKA The Becker Wrecker 1961-2017
I have tried to recreate events, locales and conversations from my memories of them. In order to maintain their anonymity in some instances I have changed the names of individuals and places. I may have changed some identifying characteristics and details such as physical properties, occupations and places of residence.
A big thank you to Zebedee, for his great talent and also being an absolute joy to work with. Even when Aston Villa had been relegated.
With particular thanks to Jane and Paul Camillin at Pitch Publishing, for embracing and believing in the idea.
To the learned team at the Kenneth Ritchie Wimbledon Library for all their help over the years, most notably Robert McNicol and Audrey Snell. A special thank you to the late Alan Little, whose advice and knowledge over the years has been invaluable. To Alexandra Willis at the AELTC for her continued support of our work, as well as Shelley Blake and Sarah Frandsen.
A particular tip of the straw trilby for the Honorary Stewards, the wonderful group of people who make sure that pretty much everyone who visits the Wimbledon Queue goes home with a smile on their face.
A big nod to Matt Little, for connecting me in some small way to such life-changing events. Even if he seemed to try a lot harder conditioning Andy Murray than he did with me, aged 14.
And for my Mum, the original Queuer.
I remember talking to Roy Emerson I ll never forget him telling me, he says, Billie, what keeps me going when I m at Wimbledon and I walk in and see all those people who ve been up all night to see us , he says, We are so lucky, and he s right.
Billie Jean King i
AN INTRODUCTION TO THE BOOK

There are three strands to this short tome.
1. I am fascinated by tennis
There is something in the basic, almost pugilistic, simplicity of the game that appeals to me like nothing else. It s best put by Harry Hopman, the legendary Australian, who said, The art of lawn tennis is control and restraint, and putting the ball where the other guy ain t. As a boy I was also highly aware that our male players were not close to winning Wimbledon and for some reason it really bothered me. The British ladies had been more successful, with four of them 1 winning it since Fred Perry s last victory in 1936, but being a boy the craving instilled in me early on was for a Gentlemen s Champion. For this reason this is not a 30-year history of the tournament, it s a memoir, and one based on what was most memorable to me.
2. I was born in Wimbledon
I grew up down the road in a slightly less leafy part, but I am, effectively, a local. I first arrived in Church Road with my Mum in June 1984, aged ten and a twelfth, staring open-mouthed and captivated as that giant green world unfurled in front of me. Even now, whilst I live within an overhit lob of Centre Court, I still sometimes get that feeling in my stomach. It s a feeling which says summer, tennis, glamour and the whole world coming here, to my own doorstep. It s like a massive film set, or global reality TV show, based right where I live. A reality show in which the best characters come back every year, if the viewers love, or, even better, loathe them. It is also never-ending due to the fact that ex-players are just as welcome, often reinventing themselves in the media and resurrecting their careers long after they ve hung up their whites. It s a show which mixes the slightly prissy world of an English garden party, and its associated class barriers, with the brash and flash world of an international sport, rife with egos, sponsorship deals, image rights, glitz and cosmopolitan glamour. And for two weeks it takes over everything, sporting and otherwise.
For many it is a social and celebrity event as much as it is a sporting one. You only have to look at the attention paid, across all of the media, especially the BBC, as to who s got one of the 80 seats in the Royal Box each day. It s a bit like a nightclub, with the stars rocking up outside in their limos, cameras flashing as they step out, all 70s shades and lanyards. It even has bouncers. Well, stewards, but it s the same idea.
I especially love the newspaper coverage, with Wimbledon being the one thing which can truly unite all the titles in terms of the blanket fascination, in all kinds of frivolity. These days the popular reality shows are largely tabloid fodder but this SW19 fix is omnipresent, in all of the papers, as even the broadsheets indulge in a healthy dose of tennis tittle-tattle.
3. The Queue
Like most people I don t really enjoy just standing in a line for hours on end. George Mikes, the Hungarian-born British journalist with a keen eye for sharp observation, said, An Englishman, even if he is alone, forms an orderly queue of one, ii emphasising the point that everyone seems fixated on the British queuing obsession. But something happens in SW19 when you get in that very specific Queue ; it s the sense of what might be, what might happen, of stories not yet written. It is therefore fitting that the phrase, Good things come to those who wait , is traced back to Violet Fane, a British writer of the late 19th century, and early Queue visionary.
I would still love to have debenture tickets every day through some mad old aunt who owns half of Gloucestershire, but I don t, and nor do most people. So every year it all comes down to that Queue, that magnificently democratic Queue. That s how we can get access to a world of wonder. And everyone s invited.
So here you are, this is my love letter. In romantic terms I am Pygmalion; I have fallen in love with a kind of sculpture, in which Wimbledon is the artistic creation, the masterpiece. Or in modern parlance it s a bit like that woman who fell in love with the Eiffel Tower, or that bloke and his Ford Capri.
THE COMPLETE WORKS OF THE ALL ENGLAND LAWN TENNIS CROQUET CLUB (ABRIDGED) OR EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT WIMBLEDON IN UNDER FOUR MINUTES

In 1874 Major Walter Wingfield invented a game he snappily called Sphairistik . The word appeared to blend Norwegian with the French past historic and literally no one, even the greatest linguists, could say it. It was replaced with Lawn Tennis , possibly from the French word tenez ( hold , or take it ), which caught on like eating strawberries with cream. The game-for-a-laugh Victorians completely embraced the concept, so much so that when the first Championships were held at Worple Road in 1877, the players actually paid to enter 2 . In 1908 the Olympic tennis was held there, Brits winning golds in pretty much all events and crowds were turning up in their thousands.
The 1920s saw the era of elegant French lady Suzanne Lenglen, who dressed like a supermodel, waltzed around like Greta Garbo and smashed down sexual barriers with the same venom she used to hit her forehand, winning the event six times. Next up, having outgrown its grounds, the Club headed up the hill, through the village and on to the new site at Church Road. Booming public interest saw a ballot introduced for tickets, a system destined to both delight and frustrate for the next hundred years.
The 1930s were all about the gallant British working-class hero, Fred Perry, who won it three times, and by the end of the decade the lawns were being shown on newfangled television for the first time. The Second World War saw Centre Court bombed, meaning no tournament for five years and parts of the Club ploughed in to a farm, complete with livestock. After war inconveniently interrupted play, order was restored in the 40s, with the gentlemen s trousers a lot shorter, as were the ladies dresses.

The cool, jazzy 1950s saw the world start groovin , a point proved by the fact that all the players in the draw received commemorative ashtrays to celebrate the Coronation. The 1960s saw t