The only bright spot I can envisage here is maybe the Brits and the throng of annoying TV announcers will stop yammering on (and offering broadcast graphics) on the previous British men to win Wimbledon. (If I never hear the name Fred Perry again ...)
It's sort of sickening the sense of entitlement they had (especially Murray himself) that he should win that trophy simply because he was born in the same nation in which it's held — as if some form of tennis manifest destiny, punctuated by the Scot's howling visage at each error he made and the gluttinous cheers from the crowd for those he didn't.
This is something Fed, Rafa, Nole and the vast majority of the tour don't get the chance to enjoy/suffer. So, Wimbledon crowds, please refrain from erupting in erogenous rapture to each opponent double fault like a Rafa fan-girl when he takes his shirt off. It's classless and unbefitting a tournament of this stature. Even embracing someone so unremittingly uncouth — just watch an hour of his on-court demeanor — because of a common lineage shows the inherent malady of patriotism.
It's not that Murray didn't deserve to win here — he did though the Fed of last year would have beaten him still this year. But this tournament, Rafa was surprisingly bad after a recent stretch of good play (albeit on clay); Fed was unsurprisingly bad after a stretch of erratic play; and Nole, who was playing fine, had a bad day after a draining semifinal. He must send a bottle of Pimms to Del Potro for tiring Novak out the same epic way he did with Roger in the Olympic semis.
Of course, I'm under no delusion that this victory will sate the crazed frenzy of Britain and Murray's fans in whatever holes they may lurk. After tasting the win this year, no doubt they will hunger for more. And we'll be forced to suffer once more the incessant tabloid heads, the obnoxious crowds, the diseased-marsupial face contortions of a jubilant Judy Murray and worse from her son.
