Wimbledon at Last!

bool(false) Printable Version Wimbledon seemed like the entrance to a large stadium. How did I feel when I first set foot inside the hallowed grounds of the All England Lawn Tennis Club, better known as Wimbledon? I suppose I had an “At last I’m here” inner excitement, but truly, as I was driven in that first day, it just seemed like an entrance to a large stadium. There was a big gate with an attendant on duty, and when we players arrived with the distinctive green and purple flag (the colors of Wimbledon) flying like a diplomat’s banner from the hood of the car, the gate would swing open, with a couple of policemen standing by to make sure that none of the public swept in behind us. There’d be two, three, or four of us in a car. The club dispatched chauffeur-driven cars all over London to wherever the players were staying. By calling the sacred phone number–Wimbledon double-two-double-four–we would request a pickup time, allowing ample time so that a car perhaps assigned to some other hotel could swing by ours and pick us up too. We’d be let off about fifty feet inside the gate, up a slight...