the greatest ever

The Wimbledon Tennis Championships have always been special for me. I love tennis, always have done since I used to batter a ball against the wall in a strange tennis-squash hybrid as a child. It is the one interest I shared with both my parents. I won't go on about it - I'd only be repeating myself - but, for me, Wimbledon holds a fascination. I am typing this at around 5 words a minute during the pauses between points in the 2009 mens final between Roger Federer and Andy Roddick. It looks like being another good one - but it will surely not compare to last year.

I watched the epic battle between Federer and Nadal along with my Mother in her room. By this point she was spending the vast majority of her time in bed and I knew in my heart of hearts that this would be the last time I would watch a tennis match with her. It seems a strange thing to say but I remember praying that it would be a good one for her.

And it was.

If you watched it then you remember how special it was. At nearly five hours it was the longest final in history. Five hours of high tempo, high quality tennis. High drama throughout. Rafael Nadal took a quick lead. At two sets up and with three break points on Federer's serve in the seventh game of the third set it looked like it was all over and Nadal was about to lift the trophy. Federer, often seen as invincible on grass, seemed deflated - but Federer managed to hold and went on to win the set on a tie break.

Then the comeback began.

The fourth set had the most amazing tie break I have ever watched. It didn't go as far as the McEnroe-Borg tie break in the 1980 final which ended 18-16 but the way this one swung and turned made it compelling.

At one point Federer was 5-2 down. He pulled it back to 6-6. Nadal took the next to set up championship point. Federer pulled back. Nadal won another point and set up another championship point. Again Federer pulled back with an amazing shot and won the set.

The final set was a nerve jangling affair with both players completely commited and focused on winning the match. It took sixteen more games to separate these two great rivals. In the end Nadal triumphed. The two men were exhausted - and strangely so was I.

Throughout the match I sat on the edge of my mother's bed. Occasionally she slipped off to sleep during the match. When her eyes would open I would tell what had happened, and she would smile. At the end of the match, despite the fact that we were both rooting for Federer throughout, she had a huge smile on her face and I made a silent prayer asking for Mssrs Nadal and Federer to be blessed. They had put on an amazing show just for her - and she had lived to see the greatest Wimbledon final in history.

So now as I watch the 2009 men's final alone it's a strange moment for me. Again it has gone for five sets. Federer is struggling a little and I am urging him to win - but not to make it better than last year.

wimbledon 2008

I am so happy. Wimbledon starts today. I love Wimbledon. I love tennis. As a child I would spend literally hours batting a ball against the wall of our boiler house. I lost so many tennis balls on the flat roof that my brother invented a ball retrieval system to help me out – true brotherly love.

I wasn’t bad at tennis when I was a kid. In fact I like to believe that if I’d kept it up I could have been pretty good. But I didn’t – and I’m not. I’m not bad at putting the ball where I want it to go – it’s the running to the other side of the court to reach the return that I haven’t quite figured out.

At my last school I was working with my boss one day. I can’t remember what we were talking about as we worked but I do remember saying that I sometimes wished I was Roger Federer. “Sometimes I wish you were too.” She replied. Obviously she hadn’t thought it through – if I was the best tennis player in the world I would hardly have been spending my Tuesday afternoon computerising her pupil action plans. Then what would she have done? – huh? huh?

Wimbledon fortnight is one of my favourite times of the year. Along with the milk cup it is one of the very few things that my father and I bond over. During this fortnight we can often be seen slumped in armchairs in the small hours watching highlights of some obscure mixed doubles match. I remember the joint sense of lose we felt when Gabriella Sabatini announced her retirement. A tragic day in the Campbell household indeed.

It’s just a shame that the Brits are producing so few world class players. It seems we can only manage one a generation at the moment. Of course it’s nice that the whole country unites behind Andy Murray (well, except me – I still think he’s a whingeing teenager) but it would be even better if the country was split by a world class rivalry. What life would be like if we had our very own british version of Connors-McEnroe.

Dreams, only Dreams. In fact it doesn’t look like improving much any time soon. At the moment Tim Henman is ranked as the 6th best player in Britain. Our 6th best player is a retired player who claims to have picked up a racket only a handful of times this year! Hardly a glowing assessment of men’s tennis in the UK. There is some talk that things are better in the women’s game, that there are large numbers of talented players moving up through the ranks – I hope so, I really do. In the meantime my ex-boss and I will have to watch the extraordinary Mr Federer do his thing.