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Monday saw the first full day’s wash-out at Roland Garros in 16 years, and prompted calls from French Open tournament director, Guy Forget, to immediately install a roof in preparation for next year’s tournament. “We’ve talked about this roof in Paris for 15 years already”, he seethed, “today is the day to just say stop”. Clearly, the chap means business, and one would suspect that as his sentiments are echoed from most corners – with talk of tarnished global images and bureaucratic French backwardness – that these scenes will become a thing of the past rather speedily. And with that, all four of tennis’ Grand Slam events will be safely shielded from the elements, and play will be allowed to continue.
Whilst this is almost entirely a good thing – enabling spectators and armchair aficionados alike to get their fill of top-quality sport, whatever the weather – it will represent the end of an era. And for the nostalgic amongst us, that is never a good thing.
The dawn of the sporting roof signals the demise of a soon-to-be lost art, at least when it comes to tennis: filling time and willing for the sun. This art permeated every level of spectatorship. For the crowds, it demanded a spirit of optimism and adventure, and decisions to be made. How long would the rain last? Do I have time for a slap-up meal or should I get chips and return to my seat? And who could forget the epitome of British stoicism, Sir Cliff’s rendition of ‘We’re all Going on a Summer Holiday’ at a rain-soaked Wimbledon? In that one act, the glory of the rain delay, and the stout hopefulness necessary to get through it, was encapsulated. For the broadcasters, the rain delay necessitated an element of creativity that is for the most part absent in the pre-meditated, proscribed world of punditry. Suddenly, they didn’t know what to talk about, or indeed whether to talk about anything at all or just skip to a classic re-run. And for the sofa-dweller, similarly pivotal questions needed answering: do I watch Borg v McEnroe again, or do I put those shelves up?
Sadly, these quintessential quandaries of the sporting summer are soon to be a thing of the past; with regard to the tennis, at any rate. Thank heavens, therefore, for cricket. With its increasingly altitudinal ball-striking and dwindling test match crowds, cricket will never have a stadium high enough to accommodate a roof. In cricket, the spirit, tenacity and creativity of the rain delay lives on, and that is a good thing.
Edward Capstick
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