Time, please. But not just yet. As Andy Murray’s first round hit-about against a game, likable but outmatched Ryan Peniston came to an end after two ruminative hours the Centre Court crowd rose to offer an unusually tender ovation. Not so much a celebration of Murray’s straight‑sets victory as a celebration of a generalised Murray‑ness, of Wimbledon things, of a distinct place and time, another late-stage episode in this valedictory high-summer ritual.
Tennis matches usually conform to a genre. The romp, the struggle, the fistfight. This sport is basically repartee, dialogue, a five-act two‑hander. On a bleak and rain‑sodden Tuesday the dominant feeling around Centre Court was closer to grateful relief. Well, we still have this, for now.
