We have learned a lot about Wimbledon in this centenary celebration of the club’s fabled Centre Court, scene of probably more 20th-century sporting drama than any single arena outside Madison Square Garden.
The tennis, generally, has been dependably sublime, hitting repeated peaks. The commentary has swung between ooh-aah Iga, ta-ra, and, bloody hell, Nick’s at it again. McEnroe has gone from grey to white, and Sue’s face might yet crack entirely while smiling at his old jokes in her farewell fortnight. Billie Jean has been an enduring Queen. And the weather has … not been awful.
