Why Wimbledon 2011 Feels Like the End of My World

When Roger lost at the QFs this Wimbledon, I didn’t get upset. In fact, I carried on and had a great time. He’d been there before and getting to the QFs of a slam is pretty good. So no problem.

Then Breakfast at Wimbledon rolled around. I didn’t get up early because I didn’t care who won. Djokovic would become #1 in the world regardless of whether he beat Rafa.

But he did beat Rafa. And on his first championship point opportunity.

At first, no problem. Whatever. It’s just tennis.

But I was melancholy. I went grocery shopping, ate breakfast, still it didn’t go away. I thought it had to be due to the overcast weather over Fourth of July weekend or that I’d had stomach pains all night. Still I couldn’t shake it.

I sat down at my computer and read some Wimbledon tweets. That’s when the floodgates opened. I was really, really, really sad. It shocked and embarrassed me. It’s just tennis!

So why the tears? Why does Wimbledon feel like more than the sum of its parts? Why does this sport mean so much to me?

I had a good think. I became a tennis fan in 2006 and witnessed the golden years of Roger’s reign. In 2006 I was in an unhappy marriage and emotionally drowning. Roger’s pursuit of perfection and his great attitude lifted me up. Over time I came to rely on him.

I became an avid sports fan in 1995 when I felt like my life was really hitting the skids and I needed to focus on something external to make me happy. I picked the NBA and became a diehard Suns fan. It helped me shift my focus off of myself which came as a welcome relief.

I didn’t realize until today that I picked Roger to play a similar role. When everything got turned upside-down and inside-out for me Roger was still cruising along, #1 in the world and sitting pretty. Yes, there was a guy named Nadal and at first I loathed him as the villain but over time I came to love him too. Zeus and Hercules, they’re both heroes.

It was difficult to watch Rafa take Roger’s spot in the rankings at the 2009 Australian Open. I did not like it but part of me was ready. Roger cried but he had at least been rational in pressers by saying that Rafa would overtake him one day. I accepted the switch relatively quickly.

But today there was a BIG change. Novak Djokovic won Wimbledon.

Honestly, I don’t like him. I wish I could say I did and actually, I have love for him, but I don’t like him. His immaturity and inability to be classy drive me crazy. Roger doesn’t like him either which makes it that much more challenging to get over it and accept him as just another guy.

I’d think that knowing he would be #1 regardless of whether he won the tournament would have bummed me out but it didn’t seem real. It was some figment of my imagination glinting off in the distance.

Then this morning it was sealed. Not only will he be #1 but he won a major tournament in a tennis cathedral that I felt belonged to Roger, and if not to him then to Rafa. That’s all I’ve known in my avid tennis fandom. And I’ve loved it.

It’s over. The door has shut on the era. It seems like I’m talking about some epoch of Wimbledon but I’m not. I’m talking about the period in which I can blindly rely on tennis as my coping mechanism for life.

Driving to meditation this morning I allowed myself to grieve and explore what was really going on. I saw that in the past five years where I’ve been divorced, had a zillion jobs and lived in as many places and had my heart broken countless times I had this rock I relied on–men’s professional tennis. What in the world? Why would I do that?

Because I was desperate. Because I didn’t have a clue what else to do. I built this ship and I cruised around on it and threw parties. It was great while it lasted but now I’ve been invaded by pirates and it looks like they’re gonna blow the whole thing up so it’s time to abort.

That’s what I’ve been struggling with today. Do I have the courage to let go of Roger and Rafa, of Wimbledon, of men’s professional tennis? What a silly question I would have thought this to be ten years ago. It appears that courage is relative. This is my Everest.

When I say let go I don’t mean abandon. I mean, can I stop making them into something personal and see them for what they really are?