Wimbledon

Wimbledon

Yes, I was watching yesterday. With my very-nearly-two-year-old climbing on top of me for most of it. And wasn’t it cheering? Not just the fact that Andy won. That we won (love how we can appropriate the successes of people from our country or team). No, it was the battle.

I have never really been very sporty; I’m not that good at it and I don’t have the competitive gene, that burning desire to win. Me, I’m happy to play for a bit then go and have a cup of tea. But recently, well, since the Olympics probably, I’ve really found myself gripped by the narrative of sport. Because each match, each game, is like a novel: beginning, middle, end. Turning points, twists and turns. Passion, determination, chance, bad luck, elation, devastation, all thrown into the mix.

I guess it’s why film directors come back to sporting triumphs again and again.

And the best thing about watching is that it’s a pretty passive sport. Just the way I like it:)

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