I play a lot of tennis. And we have very strict rules. Very strict. No points to be scored. That’s the first rule. No serving. No bouncing the fucking ball for 10 minutes between play. No changing of ends, unless its to even out the sun-tan. No swearing will NOT be allowed. (Intentional use of a double negative there. Insufficient swearing is cause for loss of rights, if not total dismissal). And no life insurance salesmen.

In my club, we are very reverential and respectful of the line court judges. Of the umpires, referees and ball boys… and girls… and anything else who picks up balls. In fact all the ground staff are… well, we don’t have any. We have a shed. That’s about it.

Because I am the judge, the jury, the witnesses and the advocates. As is whoever I play. Between us, we decide what was ‘in’ and what was ‘out’. Though in the game we play such things are actually meaningless. Except Rachie’s version of ‘out’, meaning out of the park and into the brook. Only one lost in that manner yesterday, a vast improvement on her part.

Yet I appreciate that in a more… structured type event, like a professional tournament, some rules are fairly useful. Not the swearing one, I have no idea how anyone could play any game without profanity, but others. You can’t stand there shouting at each other for 10 minutes over whether the little ball touched the white line or not. Better to have an objective decision by a third party. Hence; line judges. And if you invite them to make such decisions, should they be protected from angry Serbs?

This is the crux of the matter. As yesterday, in the US Open, the angriest Serb of them all, Novak Djokovic, was thrown out of the tournament. The top seed (or thereabouts) had just ended one of his games in the 4th round match. He was left with a ball in his hand. Probably the ‘second serve ball’ that he didn’t require. So he walked to the baseline and, without looking, just hit the spare ball towards the back of the court with his racquet. It wasn’t vicious, there was no malice, he was just hitting it in the direction of the ball… gender-fluid trans-whatever… things. A bit hard but not very. He wasn’t looking. And the ball hit a line judge in the throat. To her credit, she hit the deck like she’d been gunned down with an M16. Nothing too dramatic for that babe. She was floored. In my club this would have led to ridicule and encouragement to, perhaps, GET UP OFF YER ARSE YA SORRY WIMP!!!! but this wasn’t my club. This was the National Tennis Centre in New York. And thus comes under the auspices of whatever ruling body tennis lives by. And the rules state that ‘any abuse of line judges with balls is not a nice thing’. And is grounds for dismissal from the tournament. Which is what they did.

So Djokovic had to walk the lonely walk. To the dressing room. To his hotel. Back to Serbia.

Which did seem a little harsh. You can always get another line judge. A tougher one. But heh, rules are rules.

Happy Monday

A xxxx