Alix’s World: Bloody Roof

Written by: Staff on 22nd June 2010

Alix's World: Bloody Roof |

It had to happen – the minute Wimbledon got itself a roof, the weather perked up. For years, we Wimbledon-ites have spent the last week of June and the first week of July watching the clouds leak, the water table rise and the court coverers work themselves to a standstill.

So moist is the average Wimbledon that the tournament has actually developed its own disease – Henman Hill Buttock (it’s like trench foot, only a little higher up). As the faithful sit on Henman Hill for hour upon hour, cowering under Parkas, ponchos and Pacamacs, the rain lashes down and their fundaments grow soggier with each passing public service announcement. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the London Weather Centre has told us that the current band of showers will be with us until February….” The damp can play havoc with the undercarriage and more than one fan has limped into the sunset, never to be the same again.

But then, last year, the All England Club spent around £100 million on a whizzy, new, all-singing-and-dancing roof. At which point, the sun came out.

Still, having spent all that moolah on a court-sized umbrella, the club was determined to use it. Last year, after the merest hint of the threat of the lightest of drizzle, the man with his finger on the button – the button marked “shut the roof – go on, you know you want to” – got trigger happy and we had our first night match on Centre Court. One A. Murray of Dunblane, Scotland, walked off court at 10.39pm on the second Monday and the All England Club patted itself on the back. Job done. But at least there had been a few clouds in the sky that day.

This year, the sun has been splitting the trees and the barometer is set fair for days to come. This, of course, brings with it a whole new raft of problems. My people – the Brits – are a pale species. We do not do well in any extremes of temperature. Should the thermometer venture towards the 70s, we are forced to remove cardigans and ties and, consequently, feel naked and vulnerable. Should it nudge the 80s, we faint. Should it threaten the 90s – a rare occurrence, granted – we blame the government who, in turn, blame the European Parliament. But I digress.

Anyway, this year we had the first closing of the roof without rain. With not a cloud to be seen, the roof was shut at around 8.35pm on Monday. At the time, Novak Djokovic was being given the run around by little Olivier Rochus and the Belgian had just won the third set to go 2-1 up. He was on a roll, was Rochus. He was driving Djoko nuts and had clearly rattled the world No.3.

But then Andrew Jarrett, the tournament referee, appeared and sent both men back to the locker room for a 45-minute sit down while the roof was closed, the air conditioning cranked up and the lights turned on. The club was determined to get the match finished and the fading daylight was not going to stop them.

Rochus, gentle soul that he is, did not complain. Indeed, he barely raised an eyebrow. But when he came back out to play, he discovered that Djokovic had regrouped and recovered and so little Rochus was beaten in five sets. They finished work at 10.58pm and, at the time, we all wondered why Tim Phillips, the chairman of the All England Club, was chortling away to his colleagues in the Royal Box. That was when we learned the remarkable truth.

For all the money spent and the technology involved, Wimbledon and its roof must shut up shop at 11pm. The local authorities say so.

After last year’s tournament, the local council, the club and the local residents’ association met for a de-brief. How had the late-night finish been regarded? The local residents were, apparently, hugely unimpressed.

The air conditioning system, that vast array of pipes and ducts designed to keep 15,000 spectators, a large patch of grass, two sweaty players and a host of officials cooled and aired, is powered by vast chilling units called “the chillers”. These are housed across the road in Car Park 3, which just happens to be in the middle of a lot of very swanky houses. And the chillers make an awful racket when they are on at full blast, much to the annoyance of the neighbours.

The council came up with a compromise: 11pm was a reasonable time to call a halt to proceedings – that gave the club a few extra hours to finish matches and also meant that the locals could still get a decent night’s kip when it was all over. This plan was issued as a council “directive”, which actually means that it is not enforceable by law. On the other hand, should Wimbledon go against the “directive”, they won’t stand a cat in hell’s chance of getting their various licenses, planning permissions and permits to run the tournament next year.

So had Rochus managed to break back in that fifth set – he had led 2-0 but, running out of steam, he had been steamrollered from then on – and the match been tied at 4-4 when 11 o’clock chimed, the match would have been called off for the night. And even the mild-mannered Olivier may have thrown a tantrum at that.

No wonder Tim Phillips was grinning from ear to ear when Djokovic converted match point at 10.58pm. Tim’s boys had two minutes to spare – hey, that £100 million wasn’t a waste of money after all.

Topics: Alix, Brits, Cardigans, Clouds In The Sky, Current Band, Drizzle, Dunblane Scotland, England Club, Finger On The Button, Ladies And Gentlemen, London Weather Centre, Moolah, Ponchos, Public Service Announcement, Rain Lashes, Standstill, Trench Foot, Undercarriage, Water Table, Whizzy

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