Rafa couldn't be here to defend his title so the Wimbledon final seemed a bit flat this year.
Roger was there, looking cool and trying hard . Andy Roddick was there, looking uncool and trying hard, sweat dripping from the peak of his cap from the second game. Neither could break the other's service game. Tie-breaks became the order of the day.
Until the last set of course when tie-breaks are not allowed. It went on and on, until I began to fear that one of them would fall down and not get up again.
Tennis is the gladiator sport of this day and age. One on one, for anything from forty minutes to over five hours without a break unless it happens to rain. Heroes are made in this sport, some seem born to be heroes.
Footballers may think they are fit, but they should try this for a living. Enter a tournament and any given day five sets are a possibility for the men. A team chase a ball on a football pitch, one man on a tennis court. He doesn't just want to beat his opponent, said one retired professional on tv last week, he wants to destroy him.
Roger looked worried, but never raged or threw things as so many do. And amazingly in these days of females grunters, trillers and screamers, this match was silent. The crowd made the only noise, and the audience at home could hear the racket strike the ball. There is no sound more redolent of summer and strawberries, unless it is the sound of leather on willow. Beautiful day.
Roger won. I'll save that pic for tomorrow.