It is early evening, my favourite time of day at Wimbledon, and I am sitting so close to the action that I can see the angles of individual blades of grass and tap the service line judge on the shoulder.
In front of me on Court 14, two players I have never heard of are leathering the ball at each other in probing rallies and as the balls fizz by metres away, it feels so intimate as to be visceral. Back in 2001, I watched a similarly thrilling tussle on an outside court featuring a little-known Swiss playing his first Wimbledon, an up-and-comer called Roger Federer. Never again would I be so close to greatness.
