I’m over here covering Wimbledon for the 11th time, which makes this my 11th time spending the Fourth of July not just on the island from which we broke free 250 years ago, but at one of the most excruciatingly English environs possible.
This club isn’t just England, it’s All England, and many parts of it have taken some getting used to over the years. Some things I enjoy; others baffle.
Many of the quirkiest bits of Wimbledon, I’m admittedly sad to say, have been ironed out over the years. There are no longer unopened bottles of a beverage called “squash” sitting on the umpire’s chair, ready for the players to guzzle it on changeovers; in all my years here, I never once saw a player take a sip.
Robinsons no longer sponsors Wimbledon, but there are more corporate logos here than ever before, in a trend that makes me feel at home.
As I walk roughly a quarter of the way around the grounds from the entrance to the media centre, I pass installations for Barclays, Range Rover, American Express, Evian, and then another American Express, and then another American Express.
