Press and media reaction to Andy Murray's interaction with the Centre Court spectators has been divided. Some welcome his gesticulation after each hard-won point painfully garnered during his comeback against Gasquet, others lament the further decline of the decorum for which Wimbledon is anecdotally renowned, the most enduring symbol of which is that part of the sartorial fascism which
decrees that 'ladies' be clearly identifiable as such by virtue of wearing dresses - a division of the sensible which many women players can unfortunately be relied upon to endorse - and that men should be, well, and here is where the divide manifests itself, manly in one way or another. Their privilege of course is to be able
to choose between codes of masculinity. Manly, if effete, restraint a la
Federer or manly battle-cry on home or adopted turf. The former was introduced by
timhenam in an attempt to extract every last ounce (
not gram) from the home counties and public school escapee/
releasee contingent in order to help him on his way to the
elusive title. But now with added actual perceptible bicep (just feel the quality) courtesy of Andy Murray. The difference between
Nadal and Murray is that the former has his permanently on display (you imagine him in a customised sleeveless dinner jacket out
sabadonoche-ing). A tanned armour-body
continuum, a physique which has soared free of earth and taken on a
Christic transcendence (yet made flesh), while Murray, with the
round-necked T-shirt of the bedroom teenager in colder climes reveals his upon victory in an ironic riposte to those who would doubt that he exists, that he has presence, that he has staying power.
timhenman retired at 29,
JC at 33.
Sampras? Who said
Sampras? Borg retired only once and perversely early, but the most (paradoxically)
jesuit of players he has never really been allowed completely to withdraw. He is there when the image of Wimbledon is viewed from a certain angle, like those wonderful pound shop images of the
nazzarine.
Press and media reaction to Andy Murray's interaction with the Centre Court spectators has been divided. Some welcome his gesticulation after each hard-won point painfully garnered during his comeback against Gasquet, others lament the further decline of the decorum for which Wimbledon is anecdotally renowned, the most enduring symbol of which is that part of the sartorial fascism which decrees that 'ladies' be clearly identifiable as such by virtue of wearing dresses - a division of the sensible which many women players can unfortunately be relied upon to endorse - and that men should be, well, and here is where the divide manifests itself, manly in one way or another. Their privilege of course is to be able 
to choose between codes of masculinity. Manly, if effete, restraint a la Federer or manly battle-cry on home or adopted turf. The former was introduced by timhenam in an attempt to extract every last ounce (not gram) from the home counties and public school escapee/releasee contingent in order to help him on his way to the 
elusive title. But now with added actual perceptible bicep (just feel the quality) courtesy of Andy Murray. The difference between Nadal and Murray is that the former has his permanently on display (you imagine him in a customised sleeveless dinner jacket out sabadonoche-ing). A tanned armour-body
continuum, a physique which has soared free of earth and taken on a Christic transcendence (yet made flesh), while Murray, with the round-necked T-shirt of the bedroom teenager in colder climes reveals his upon victory in an ironic riposte to those who would doubt that he exists, that he has presence, that he has staying power. timhenman retired at 29, JC at 33. Sampras? Who said Sampras? Borg retired only once and perversely early, but the most (paradoxically) jesuit of players he has never really been allowed completely to withdraw. He is there when the image of Wimbledon is viewed from a certain angle, like those wonderful pound shop images of the nazzarine.
No comments:
Post a Comment