Triumphs, and now, a disaster: Reflections on a cancelled Wimbledon

It’s difficult to craft a proper reaction to the news that there will be no Wimbledon this year. Begin with deep empathy for those who count on the tournament as a significant portion of their livelihood—not just the players, but the many who maintain the grounds, prepare and serve food and drink, drive players and others all over London, operate the facility, work in the various shops, ensure that all the technology is running smoothly, cover the tournament for broadcast and print media, string racquets, run tour groups, sell and take tickets, call the lines, craft the schedule, groom the courts—and so many more. Wimbledon is a workplace, in many cases not just for a fortnight. One saving grace for the All England Club is that, unlike many other events, it has an insurance policy that covers pandemics.

Given what’s happening in our world now, to express too much emotion about a cancelled tennis tournament feels profoundly insensitive. Ranking points, history, title tallies, vacation trips—they are scarcely meaningful these days. Our current situation is like nothing anyone has ever seen. If that wasn't clear already, this week it was announced that the USTA Billie Jean King National Tennis Center will be serving as a temporary, 350-bed hospital.

The last time Wimbledon wasn't played was 1945, the last of six consecutive years it was not held due to World War II. Hall of Famer John Barrett writes in the tournament’s official history, “the All England Club had a useful part to play in the war effort.” Parking areas were used to grow vegetables and house animals. Several of the club’s buildings were temporary work spots for the various defense, military, fire and healthcare services.

The courts continued to be maintained. And in July 1945, two months after the war had ended in Europe, more than 5,000 spectators attended a day of exhibition matches between British soldiers and other Allied troops.

Contemporary Wimbledon is also stepping up, once again putting itself on wartime footing. Today’s announcement on the club’s website read, “Our efforts will now be focused on contributing to the emergency response and supporting those affected by the coronavirus crisis. We have begun distributing medical equipment and offered the use of our facilities to the NHS and to the London Resilience Partnership, the collection of agencies in London fighting the battle against COVID-19. We are working with the local authorities in Merton and Wandsworth, particularly on food distribution, and we are distributing food supplies through our partnership with City Harvest.

“Our charity, the Wimbledon Foundation, is offering funding support to our local communities through our partnership with the London Community Foundation, and more broadly for the London and UK population through our partnership with the British Red Cross, the Foundation’s emergency response charity.”

And so now, to ponder Wimbledon is a solitary and reflective experience of memory, a pause to ponder the subtle power and lure of a tournament that is both epic, yet also intimate—a delicate, garden party-like atmosphere the All England Club creates with exceptional attention and effort.

This morning, I thought about a fellow member of my tennis club who took her seven-year-old son to Wimbledon two years ago for the first time, and how nice it was to join them one afternoon, tucked into seats on Court 18. They’d like to go back, but that will have to wait. Same for a couple I know who have never been to Wimbledon, but have long hoped to get there, eat strawberries and cream, stroll the grounds and see grass-court tennis for the first time. Last year, another friend who’d applied for tickets for decades through the tournament’s public lottery at last got the chance to attend. How fortunate for her that didn’t happen this year. But again, even if that had been the case, when she and I spoke earlier this week, we instantly agreed that given the current situation, there would no reason to be upset about missing out on attending. I’m sure everyone else I’ve cited would concur.

Having worked at Wimbledon for nearly 25 years, I could fill a volume with tales of days and nights on the grounds of the All England Club, of early mornings alone, sitting inside a near-empty Centre Court, as close to effectively meditating as I’ve ever done; of gazing at practices featuring a spectrum of greats; of roaming across field courts with a bag of candy in my hands, sifting through the shuffle of the fans, the tranquility of the grass and the physicality of the ball-striking; and, of course, of having the chance to sit on Centre Court, watch the best tennis players in the world on the sport’s most iconic court and then get the chance to write about it. At this moment, though, it feels shameful to the point of indulgence to admit to missing such relatively languid activities. Best to think how lucky I’ve been for such a graced time of it at SW19—and think instead about others now tackling far more urgent matters with life, family, work and health.

Tracy Austin on Wimbledon's cancellation:

One can look ahead to the future and how it will be to yet again see thousands on Centre Court, be it from a seat or watching Wimbledon on TV, and witness the world’s best tennis players. Surely, the return to the garden will be joyous. A few questions: Having gained such perspective, having watched the world tilt so precariously, will tennis players still get angry at the game’s twists and turns? For spectators, will it really be worth getting upset if a favored player loses a big match?

Or will it be even more important to take solace in high-stakes events such as Wimbledon? Those iconic words that frame the entrance to Centre Court—“If you can meet with triumph and disaster . . . and treat those two imposters just the same”—have for decades been applied to the tennis. Now, how do they come across: comforting verse for mere athletes, or, even more, practical guidelines for a global crisis like none other?