What's with all the racquet?

Wimbledon Tennis is over. The concrete tennis courts of Britain will now revert to their primary purpose which is to host gang fights, rapes and other youthful hijinks. Racquets will be left in the shed, and forgotten the next year when another new racquet will be purchased, which will then in turn end up forgotten in the shed. Plucky Andy McMurray has failed in his quest to become the first British champion since 1542, and he is surely tucked up in bed nursing a bottle of Buckfast as he licks his wounds after being soundly spanked by Rafael Nadal. I personally don't mind Murray, although he is so Scottish that if you cut him in half there would be a layer of non-specified minced meat with a large egg in the centre, and he would leak Irn Bru everywhere.

I only comment on his overt and very miserable Scottishness because I'm sure when 'Tiger' Tim Henman was in his relative pomp, he was referred to as English. The gentile and well-heeled folk of SW19 normally fear the marauding Scots and believe it's a bloody shame that Hadrian's wall was allowed to fall into disrepair; so for them to warm to the ginger menace illustrates just how desperate these aristoprats are to cling to the notion that Britain is still somehow relevant and superior. And before Murray there was the Canadian-as-an-Elk Gred Rusedski, and inbetween a disastrous attempt to convert the very Serbian Novak Djokovik into a tea-drinker.

This illustrates how poor the English (or when convenient, British) game is. Murray cut his unusual teeth in Spain, and has been forthcoming in criticising the English (sorry British) LTA, who are so bumbling, disorganised and incompetent that they make the English FA look like the SAS in comparison. The gentlemen of the LTA spend most of their days supping on champagne and falling asleep, and in rare moments of lucidity moaning about the price of servants. But internationally, the Men's game is in rude health, with 3 superb players at or just over the peak of their powers, and Andy Murray trying desperately to keep up with them/hoping they all die in a plane crash. The REAL problem with tennis lies with the women's game, which has descended into an un-watchable freakshow.

Petra Kvitova won Wimbledon this year, mainly because she is 6'2". Women's tennis is fundamentally broken. They are all either giants, or they scream their heads off. Some are both. Victoria Azarenka is 5'11" and wails like a lost soul in the night. She does this every time she hits the ball, plus sometimes she screams petulantly when she misses a volley. And let us not forget the champion of screaming, Maria Sharapova; a woman who by right ought to wear out her voice completely before she hits 30.

I hope Maria Sharapova ultimately suffers the same fate as the boy who cried wolf - One day she will be loudly slaughtered in one of her mansions and her neighbours will think she is merely having a practise session. In fact, her neighbours will be the most likely suspects in the ongoing murder inquiry, and who would blame them. If ever there was just cause to commute a murder sentence to involuntary manslaughter, then surely this is it. It would be like living next door to a very large hareem of bickering foxes, who have chosen to nest in an active volcano.

The screaming phenomenon can be traced back to Monica Seles, who had a trademark grunt before a lot of today's players were born. Lest we forget that she was stabbed courtside. Now I'm not saying that this occurred because of her relentless noise nor do I condone it; but I was secretly relieved that I wouldn't have to put up with her half sneeze/half orgasm shouting ruining women's tennis for a while. The question that needs to be answered is why do they do it, and why is it tolerated? The first questions is easy to answer - it's all gamesmanship. No men do it. Nadal grunts but he does not emit a theatrical warble which would put a Bird of Paradise to shame.

From barbaric and blood-curdling to downright odd; none of the women's screams sound like they are a product of exertion. They serve purely to distract their opponent, to disguise the sound of the ball as they hit it; to give the opposing player no chance of determining whether they are facing a slice or a smash until the ball is nearly upon them. It should be banned. I have no idea why it is allowed. But then I have no idea why a rubbish American player saw fit to dress up like a porky hybrid of Lady Gaga and a Quarterback, (How silly did she feel when she was dumped out in the first round by the way) but what the hell do I know.

Then there is the combined might of the The Williams Brothers, who should be forced to compete in an 'other' category - which would consist of themselves, Caster Samanya, Amelie Mauresmo, Lindsay Davenport, and all the female weightlifters. Surely they can all piss standing up. These non-gender-specific muscular titans have no place in any women's sport. How relieved Novak Djokovic must have been this year, knowing that he wasn't going to be manhandled by either Venus or Serena for the first time in years at the player's ball, where it has become customary for the winning males to be crushed to death by monstrous 50" thighs more befitting a shire horse.

The rapid decline in the Women's game has by and large been rewarded with equal parity in terms of prize money, despite the fact that the men have to work for at least one third longer for the same money and they do not spend their time screaming like rabid baboons. What the fuck is all that about? Surely the EU should step in and sort it out seeing as they have nothing else to do with their time at the moment apart from wiping Greece's backside. I'm hoping that as the Williams brothers retire that the women's game reverts to what it used to be, and the days of 7 ft banshees smashing the ball as hard as they can whilst screaming will be but a bad dream. I shan't hold my breath though.

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