Weblog: Wandering the world wide web
What would you rather be, posh or Scottish?
CAN I be the first to say that I'm quite glad Andy Murray lost? It's not just that he's Scottish, although that helps. In fact, no, it's definitely not that. I've been cheering on the British Lions and I like the Sensational Alex Harvey Band, Mark Johnston and 16-year-old Lagavulin, so I'm pretty sure I'm not anti-Jockanese.
Also, he's lost his spots and the worst of his adolescent surliness, and I've partially forgiven him for his faintly pathetic Celtic revelation that he cheers on any sports team that's playing against England. I like to think I've risen above all that.
No, what really bothers me still is the shameful and shabby way Tim Henman was treated by the British media for what was, to all intents and purposes, the heinous crime of being English and middle-class. He was the first Brit for around 25 years to reach a Wimbledon semi and went on to do it another three times, gotto the same stage in the US and the French, won 11 (admittedly non-major) titles, hung around in the top echelon for half a dozen years and reached number four in the world, but was hung out to dry for going to private school, knowing how to use a fish knife without stabbing somebody and having a fan club that included lots of dotty old ladies with funny hats.
Because he regularly failed to reach the final at Wimbledon, he was labelled by the once-a-year tennis experts as a choker without the true grit to go all the way. He had an unconvincing fist-pump, so we were told, and a good head of well-maintained hair and a look that gave away his 10 GCSEs and suggested he probably never forgot Mother's Day. Presumably, had he been able to produce evidence of serial drug abuse, attempted grievous bodily harm and multiple body piercings, he would have been lauded as the saviour of British tabloid journalism (oh, and British sport).
Ask people who really know tennis players and they'll tell you Henman was nothing like the cuddly and toothless tiger he was portrayed as. In fact, his biggest crime was being not quite top, top class in an era that was probably the most competitive in living memory, and not quite as good as the mighty Sampras, who was even better than the mighty Federer and beat our man in two of those Wimbledon semis.
My wife often accuses me of being chippy working-class. You may think I'm chippy middle-class. But frankly I'm just fed up with hearing lazy, loathsome,mediocre sportsmen (and here I don't include the perfectly decent, if largely charmless, Murray) being praised to the heavens for humping former inmates of the Big Brother house, while perfectly good operators like Henman are vilified for not having beenthe product of a family of dysfunctional drunks and dog molesters.
Perhaps next year I'll find it in my heart to be a Murray fan and hope he makes the final, but for the time being I'll be the champion of the disenfranchised privileged classes.
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