One of the first things I literally rushed to do a few days ago, as soon
as I found myself having a working (borrowed) laptop and a new, operating
internet, was to google “Andy Murray Wimbledon Final 2013”, and gorge at
last for several hours on all the videos I could find that showed the
match, and the after-match, and gave me at last, even if belatedly, the
thrills of that epic final I had missed.
On Monday of course in the newspapers here there came the headlines at
least, and the regular photos of the happy winner kissing the
magnificent trophy coveted for so long; in that case I had really wanted
Murray to win… to the point that I actually had during the preceding
night a sort of flash of him holding the cup indeed, which was confirmed
by the newspapers the next day.
But that was clearly not enough for me: at the time of the event itself,
I happened to be deprived of not only my TV set (all the more
frustrating because one of the main reasons why I bought it some years
ago was precisely to stop missing all my beloved Tennis Championships
around the year, year after year), but also, incredibly, of my laptop,
the obvious alternative I thought I could always count on if the TV ever
Well, this most improbable coincidence, that both those technical means
failed me at the same time, did occur, and there was nothing I could do
about it. That Sunday came and that Sunday ended without my getting even
a glimpse of that final I so badly wanted to watch.
So while the match was going on in London, in my home here I was feeling
thoroughly miserable, unable as I was to see any of it. Of course,
being a yogi, such a superficial disagreement couldn’t really affect me,
but still… Let’s say I wished the Divine had not decided to do such a
bad joke to me; I seem to remember I did complain inwardly but bitterly
about that totally unnecessary divine prank.
All I could do the next day to try and get some pics of the match itself
was to go hunt the sports magazines available for sale in Pondy, but
all of them were the weekly type, and dated from the previous week: only
the next issues would cover this event always scheduled on a Sunday.
So I would just have to wait, I told myself with melancholy while getting back home empty handed…
And then, lo and behold! The very next day I unexpectedly got that laptop available from
someone else, and the internet connection was installed in my house!!!
My heart swelled again with gratitude for the Divine: my problem was
The more serious tasks could wait a few more hours, the real priority for the Tennis Fan in me was to at last watch that final.
And did I do it!… I looked and looked again at the most superb shots
from both sides, and the sheer beauty of it all was inner food for my
being; I just love watching Tennis, especially the best players; the
movements are usually beautiful as well as powerful; it resurrects in me
my own youth spent in good part at the windows of our apartment
overlooking the two tennis courts on which all of us residing in that
blessed place could play daily to our heart’s content… When I was not
on the court itself, I was at the window looking down at the matches
Why for that specific final did I root so strongly for Murray?…
Simply, I felt he deserved it.
Djokovich is very good too, but he has already had somehow his share of
triumphs, I would say. Now it’s Murray’s turn to shine, and finally to
win where before he would remain only the runner-up.
And for so many years England had been eagerly waiting for that to
happen: to have a UK person win in England’s own Kingdom of Tennis:
Wimbledon; it really had to happen.
Still, I am glad that it was actually a Scot who did it. For some reason
I have a soft spot for Scots and Scotland. Somewhere in my
consciousness now, and perhaps, who knows, in England’s consciousness
too, Andy Murray has joined another wonderful other Scot sportsman: Eric
Liddell, the ‘Flying Scot’ whose ardent and joyful faith led him to win
at the Paris Olympics of 1924 (see my posts about him and the admirable
film ‘Chariots of Fire’). I was glad that even here in India one of the
newspapers found a pleasant way to remind everyone of the winner’s
actual origin; its title read jokingly, ‘GREAT SCOT!… MURRAY DID IT!’