Wimbledon...Your views

Grab your strawberries from the fridge, add some cream and get ready to watch non-stop tennis over the next two weeks.

It’s that time when British fans gather on Murray Mount (not quite the same ring as Henman Hill) to cheer on the fiery Scot but will he excel or collapse under the pressure?

One thing guaranteed to fall is the rain. The umbrellas will be up during the tournament which means we’ll be treated to some classic tennis from the past between some of the greatest players to grace the court.

But who do you think is the best Wimbledon champion of all-time? Do you agree with our number one choice of Martina Navratilova? Is there anybody we missed from our list?

Plus, who’s your money on at SW19? Can Federer win a sixth successive title or will Nadal finally triumph on grass? The women’s tournament is less predictable with a string of ladies in with a shout of being crowned champion.

Tell us who you think the greatest Wimbledon champion is of all time, add your volley of thoughts and serve us your predictions for this year’s tournament by filling in the boxes below.

Federer defies belief

By Mike Dale

Good Lord. I'm writing this just 10 minutes after witnessing the greatest Wimbledon final I have ever seen.

I have never before seen a match that produced so many spine-tingling rallies, so many moments that made you slap your head and gasp in disbelief. The winners, the finesse, the control, the withering power. It was almost surreal.

I've been thinking back and trying to compare it with great games of years gone by. Ivanisevic v Rafter in 2001 was possibly the only final to come close in my lifetime, but that was memorable mostly for the great story behind Goran's victory rather than the standard of tennis.

You'll probably remember than Ivanisevic had entered as a wild card that year and the final was pushed back to a third Monday due to rain, with raucous Aussies and Croat fans creating an atmosphere akin to an Old Firm derby.

That final had drama in the soap opera sense, but this year's simply oozed class - it was two of the sport's finest ever exponents at the top of their game. It was sport stripped of the hyperbole, the agents, the money-grabbing, the cynicism and all the nonsense. This was sport in its purest and most heart-pumping form.

Who said this has been a crap tournament? Hang your heads in shame!

Thrills scarce on 'Super Saturday'

By Mike Dale

Ticket-holders for Saturday at Wimbledon must have arrived thinking they'd got a bargain. They probably left feeling short changed.

With the bonus of two men's semi-finals on what is traditionally women's final day, there seemed to be a bountiful feast of tennis in store - especially with the rare sight of clear skies over south west London.

But after Friday's spectacular day of shocks and marathon matches, Saturday was something of a let down.

Venus Williams' straight-sets win over Marion Bartoli was a routine victory for a lady who the Wimbledon crowd have never truly taken to their hearts. Sadly, her French opponent could not summon the puff to repeat her thrilling victory over Justine Henin.

As for the men's semi-finals, Novak Djokovic denied the Court One crowd the contest they were hoping for by withdrawing injured midway through his clash with Rafael Nadal, while Richard Gasquet proved incapable of halting Roger Federer's serene progress towards a fifth successive trophy.

With the rain, scheduling problems, Andy Murray's withdrawal and other British failures, it's been easy to be negative about the last fortnight (and I've certainly hopped on that particular bandwagon!), but Saturday - like the tournament as a whole - has left me rather underwhelmed.

A slice of humble pie

by Mike Dale

Today I have mostly been eating humble pie. Three large slices of humble pie in fact.

The sun shone, Justine Henin lost and Britain's Jamie Murray (with the help of Jelena Jankovic) reached the mixed doubles quarter-finals. Wimbledon is officially great again.

So what can I pick on now? Easy - Wimbledon's tow-the-line decision to award equal pay for men and women for the first time this year.

Ahead of her astonishing defeat to Marion Bartoli, Justine Henin's entire tournament amounted roughly to the same on-court time as Novak Djokovic's five-hour, quarter-final marathon against Marcos Baghdatis.

Meanwhile, Rafael Nadal's average match length at SW19 is 157.4 minutes; the ladies second seed, Maria Sharapova, averaged only 82 minutes.

In what other profession do two people doing the same job earn the same money yet one works twice as hard as the other? Come to think of it, I imagine it happens at a lot places...

Wimbledon is rubbish

by Mike Dale

Right, that's it. I've had it. I've managed to bite my tongue, but after watching more 'classic' tennis repeats than a day's broadcasting by UK Gold (if anyone shows me that Borg-McEnroe final again...), I am finally prepared to admit that Wimbledon is, wait for it, rubbish.

I hereby cite the following three simple reasons:

1) Not one day has escaped the rain. Why the hell does it take two years to build a roof? Why is Britain such a miserable place to live?

2) British players are getting worse. Especially when they don't have a girl to hold their hand through the tough times (step forward Mr Bogdanovic who despite having a Serbian-sounding name, doesn't play like any of the other 'novic's that are doing so well elsewhere).

3) So predictable. Federer is going to beat Nadal in the men's final, Henin will win the women's. We knew it from the start. Why not just toss a coin for Henin's slayee on day one and play both matches on the first Monday?

When does the football season start?

Beauties could save Wimbledon

by Mike Dale

As the wettest, most disrupted, most lacking-in-British-interest Wimbledon ever heads towards a predictable Federer-Henin double, there's still time to revel in the one bright spot.

Yes, Thursday sees the most aesthetically-pleasing match of the tournament; Miss Ana Ivanovic versus Miss Nicole Vaidisova. Be still my palpitating heart!

The Serbian and Czech Republic beauties will do battle for a semi-final spot, but only real tennis aficionados will be too bothered about the result. For once, it won't just be women taking a great interest in dress sense.

The big difference between the likes of Ivanovic, Vaidisova and Maria Sharapova and the former great favourite Anna Kournikova is that the first three can actually play tennis. It means we can all use the 'I'm watching this game because the standard of tennis is good' argument when our partners catch us staring smuttily and open-mouthed at the screen.

So sit back, relax and enjoy the game of the tournament. It might be the only one worth watching.

World laughs at Wimbledon washout

By Mike Dale

We’re officially witnessing the wettest Wimbledon since 1982, and the tournament is fast becoming the laughing stock of the tennis world thanks to rain.

Play a quick word association game and compare Wimbledon to the other Grand Slams. French Open – what do you think of? Chic Parisian crowds? Aussie Open – beautiful blue skies? US Open – stunning floodlit stadia?

Now say ‘Wimbledon’ to an American, Aussie or Frenchman – there’s a good chance they’ll hit straight back with “rain” (or “pluie”). Not exactly what the All England Club would want to promote.

If the rain wasn’t bad enough, you’ve got the consequences. Never mind the backlog of matches, I’m talking about the desperate attempts to fill the breaks in play on telly.

Tedious biogs of Billie Jean King, wearisome chatter amongst old pros and ‘amusing’ montages of Wimbledon classics set to some precipitation-themed hit from the mid-70s, which run snooker’s ‘Entertainer’ patchwork of Dennis Taylor’s wobbly glasses and Cliff Thorburn’s waggly finger a close second in the ‘Sporting Montages So Crushingly Predictable That You Want To Smash Up Your Telly, Painstakingly Rebuild It And Then Smash It Up All Over Again’ stakes.

When the roof goes on Centre Court things may get better. But Wimbledon fortnight is this country’s one chance each year to show off to all those Americans, Aussies, Frenchman and nations around the globe just why Wimbledon is the most prestigious tennis tournament in the world.

The only answer to secure Wimbledon’s future and stop the rest of the world laughing at us is to build bigger, better courts with fully retractable roofs, and never lose another moment’s play to rain again.

Considering the Millennium Dome cost £758million, we could have the world’s best year-round tennis facility for half that - and I’d happily chuck in a fiver to save the nation from Cliff Richard singing again. The hat’s coming round - will you chip in?

Cynical Williams limps through

by Mike Dale

Call me cynical, but did Serena Williams' injury warrant either her 'I've just had my leg removed without anaesthetic' cries of agony or the sycophantic out-pouring of sympathy from commentators and fans?

Having burst into tears on court (left) and sulked off and then on for a rain break looking as if the worst thing imaginable had happened to her, Serena was soon serving aces, legging it here, there and everywhere and egging herself on with the most ear-piercing 'C'mon'.

When you've seen Terry Butcher lose about 42 pints of blood but still keep a clean sheet and Brian Close using his rib cage to block ferocious Michael Holding bouncers, Williams' moaning at not being allowed to go to the toilet to cynically give her time to nurse the leg injury which suddenly disappeared a game later falls on deaf ears.

Needless to say, she went on to win 6-2 in the third. Was it all a stunt to put off poor Daniele Hantuchova, who totally lost the plot in the deciding set? If so, it worked a treat.

Greg springs Wimbledon surprise

By Mike Dale

Those who have been complaining about the lack of shocks so far at this year's Wimbledon are wrong. I've been in a state of stunned disbelief since day one. The reason? Greg Rusedski's commentating.

During his playing days, I'd rather have watched live snail racing than a post-match interview with Rusedski. His permanently fixed pseudo-grin, whiney mid-Atlantic drone and bland, media-trained analysis was an instant turn-off.

But, having swapped racket for microphone, the tranformation is astonishing.

Both in the studio with Sue Barker and co-commentating on matches, he has been not only articulate (which is beyond far too many ex-pros-turned-commentators these days), but insightful, witty and stimulating.

He had a dogy start though. After being introduced as the newest member of the Beeb's team, he was obviously nervous and a bit over-eager. Talking about Andy Murray's chances of coming back from injury, he launched himself into a sentence, speaking so quickly that words morphed into each other in an unintelligible mess. He came to a sudden stop, grasping for the right phrase with which to complete his 100mph monologue, before opting for 'workmanlike' when he clearly meant 'work-rate', to momentary embarrassed silence from John McEnroe alongside him.

But since then, he has been a delight to listen to, which brings us to a wider point.

Why is it that sportsmen only seem to be able to show their true colours once they've packed in playing? Is it impossible to swish a racket for a living and have a personality at the same time?

Rusedski is not the only one. Many before him (Mike Atherton springs immediately to mind) have dished up nothing but dour cliches for the cameras when on the receiving end of a microphone, but come alive when holding one themselves.

Thanks for the jocular insights Greg, and keep it up, but it wouldn't have taken us so long to start liking you if you'd shown us your funny side a bit earlier.

Come in No74, your time is up

By Mike Dale

It's been yet another seat-of-the-pants experience watching Tim Henman at Wimbledon this year. We've all enjoyed the ride but I'm afraid I'm going to say something controversial here, Tim - it's time to call it a day.

The bare facts are these: Henman has gone out of Wimbledon in the second round three years in a row. He has won just four competitive matches since Christmas. His world ranking is 74. He is nearly 33. He was seen in Harrod's last week buying a cardigan and some slippers.

OK, I'll admit the last bit is as yet unconfirmed, but if Tiger Tim carries on too long he's in danger of soiling our memories of his finest achievements.

Let's get this straight first of all; in his prime Henman won 10 tour titles and got to five Grand Slam semi-finals. He may have blown more promising winning positions than the England one-day cricket team (some feat, that), but he can still look back on his career with a glow of satisfaction.

However, there's nothing worse than a former superstar that doesn't know when to give up. Take Seve Ballesteros for instance. The five-time major winner continued to hack around in bunkers on the European Tour into his 50s when someone should clearly have had a quiet word with him years before and told him to stop embarrassing himself.

Well here's a quiet word from me, Tim (I'm sure you're all ears!). You're clearly a terrific bloke and you've given us some wonderful memories, but hang up the racket, spend some time with Lucy and the kids and ensure we remember you for the good times.

Officials see red over French knickers

By Mike Dale

It took just three days for women's knickers to become the hot topic at SW19.

They were worn by 19-year-old Tatiana Golovin, who strode on to Court 14 wearing a dazzling red pair beneath her whites.

While the pens of male journalists quivered with excitement, Wimbledon officials were apparently worried that the French 17th seed might be in breach of their dress code.

The rules are quite clear. Players must wear white, and any underwear of a different colour mustn't extend below the line of skirt or shorts.

Ms Golovin was eventually cleared of any offence because her knickers, however visible, did not reach beneath her skirt. But it looked touch and go to most observers.

She was unrepentant in the post-match press conference, claiming the knickers matched her dress because it had a red outline.

"There's like a little red outline," she said. "And they say red is the colour that proves that you're strong and you're confident, so I'm happy with my red knickers."

Golovin pledged to keep wearing them "as long as I keep winning". And win she did, much to the delight of journalists and red-blooded tennis fans everywhere.

Let's all laugh at Tim

By Mike Dale

Tim Henman really did have the last laugh on day two.

Not content with winning one of the best first-round matches in recent Wimbledon history, he then treated his adoring millions to a sparkling display in the post-action press conference.

When asked about John McEnroe's claim that he might suffer through having to play two days on the trot, Henman said with a wry smile: "McEnroe - wrong again."

And the new-found humour didn't end there. A foreign hack piped up with a question about the extra pressure on Henman now that Andy Murray was off the scene. "Felt like the world was on my shoulders," replied Tim, with a grin this time.

Then a journalist called Nigel asked about Henman Hill, or whatever it's called these days. The journo wanted to know whether Tim was playing for all those fans up there on the SW19 heights.

"Go on then, Nigel, yeah - I was playing for them. Do you want a direct quote?" he teased. "I was playing for those people."

Not exactly a side-splitter, but much laughter followed - along with the growing feeling that here is a man who, for all his on-court problems in recent months, is increasingly at ease with himself.

Fashion prize of the day had to go to Venus Williams, who progressed to the second round along with her white racket inlayed with 22-carat gold, plus a gold handbag to match.

So exactly which planet are you on, Venus? A far cry indeed from the days of Billie Jean King and co.

Henmaniacs left in the dark

By Mike Dale

For once the Henmaniacs had a point. There they all were having heart attacks in the Centre Court gloom as Our Tim wasted four match points in his first-round epic against Carlos Moya.

Then, as the clock ticked to 9.18pm and with the score at 5-5 in the final set, on marched the referee to call a halt after a quick consultation with the players.

A burst of polite Wimbledon booing followed (imagine what it would have been like in similar circumstances at a big football match) as Tim and Carlos scurried to the locker room.

And so the curtain came down on this unfinished drama in a manner that left everyone frustrated, if not cheated. It's the equivalent of a football ref blowing for time with the scores at 3-3 and two minutes to go.

The 'Come On Tim' brigade shouldn't have been treated in this way. After all, they've had to endure more than their fair share of heartaches over the years.

But by coming from a break down in the final set, at least Henman proved that there's life in the old dog yet.

The most eye-catching moment of day one came when Roger Federer emerged on Centre Court in his five-piece, tailor-made outfit complete with long trousers and sweater vest, all in white with gold trim.

He looked like a cross between Fred Perry and an extra in The Great Gatsby but, as usual, cut a dash that captivated the crowd. The guy's got style to burn.

The verbal volley

By Mike Dale

Greetings, racket-swishers, and welcome to my Wimbledon blog. Over the next fortnight I'll be dipping a probing strawberry into the cream of the action on the lush lawns, bringing you a sideways look at events in SW19.

I've loved Wimbledon ever since I was a nipper. One of my earliest memories of the championships is seeing headbanded teenager Michael Chang hurling himself across the turf and pulling off all sort of spell-binding trick shots in the early 90s. I was eaten up with jealousy.

I had an eye for a ball from an early age but always veered towards squash. I'm still remembered by some for my performances in the Hampshire junior leagues (hi Mum!). Nevertheless, I'm still an avid follower of the most glamorous racket sport and cannot wait for Sue Barker's chuckling orange face to appear on my telly to introduce the Beeb's live coverage.

The draw has done poor old Timbo no favours this year. He's up against former French Open winner Carlos Moya. The Spaniard will prove a quick vaccine to the national outbreak of the disease known as Henmania this year, I fear. At least it will spare us from this sort of thing, I suppose.

As for Andy Murray, at the time of writing his participation is still in the balance. He's putting his wrist through some vigorous training, but didn't we all at that age?

I'll be back on Monday night to offer some pithy (possibly), jocular (debatable) and hastily cobbled-together (almost certainly) thoughts on the opening day's action.

In the meantime, I'll be preparing for the umpires to say those spine-tingling words that get the fortnight of fun off and running: "Players ready? Play!"