Tennis

That's enough tennis now thank you. I've seen Andy Murray's Mum more times in the last two weeks than I've seen my own mum in a year. While this saddens me deeply - for my mother is a living saint - I'm comforted and amused by the fact that Mrs. Murray is essentially Andy Murray...if Andy Murray was an ageing regional drag queen.  Also, there's only so many Super-Slow-Motion montages I can take of Murray lolloping around a patch of grass looking like a harassed, grimacing horse. If I wanted to see an equine-featured millionaire getting sweaty and fatigued I'd chase an asthmatic minor royal around Windsor with a wilting nettle and a shitty stick.

I preferred Tennis when the players looked like bassists from short-lived 1970's progressive rock bands. These days they exude total professionalism and that leaves a casual observer like me very little to hang on to. Perhaps the Lawn Tennis Association could allow a few woefully bad tennis players to compete providing they had some decent banter. If this proved impossible they could very simply enforce the following compulsory rule changes:

• Every time a player scores a point the crowd must shout "TENNIS!" in unison.
• If a player challenges a call and gets it wrong they have to take off an item of clothing. Players can combat this by wearing several hats.
• Each player is allowed to play one game with an absurdly over sized racket.
• In order to receive new balls players must retrieve them from a pouch attached to the back of a buttered piglet. The piglet is released onto the court from a special hatch adjacent to the umpire - players must work together to corner it, restrain it by it's buttery flanks and retrieve the fresh balls.

I think these suggestions are entirely fair and I trust the powers that be have the foresight to recognise that these new rules could change the face of Tennis for ever and for the better.



New Balls please!!