James Corden is not the next Andy Murray

This blog has been shortened as I think we should all be outside getting some vitamin D.

Here’s a disclaimer, I am by no means a tennis expert or a tennis fan. I only watch it when it is on one of the few television channels that I have. I don’t play tennis. I find the boundaries of a tennis court too restrictive, I don’t like to be confined during leisure time. I once owned a tennis racquet, I mostly used it to play rounders. I do however have a ruthless two-handed topspin forehand, when fully fit (I’m carrying a shoulder injury and can barely get a jumper over my head nevermind a serve).

Wimbledon is great, it’s uplifting, a brief antidote to everyday life under the coalition, isn’t it? It’s inspirational in many ways. I mean, I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am not going to be a Wimbledon champion, but it encourages me to get outside and see some grass. That’s just from watching it on my tiny tele. Imagine actually being there. Being overwhelmed by the atmosphere, seeing how tall these players are, hearing how hard they hit that little ball and watching how fast they run. That could really motivate some child to pick up a racquet and become the next tennis hero. Yet, do we see the excited faces of children in the crowd? No, we see the faces of tired old royals, keeping their privileged knees warm with pure new wool blankets and resting their privileged arses on velvet cushions stuffed with our taxes. We see Amir Khan taking photos on his modest gold iPhone while his wife looks like she could kill a population with the apathy virus she is infected with. James Corden, Jude Law, Michael McIntyre!?

James Corden is not the next Andy Murray. These hospitality junkies should give up their seats to someone who will be inspired by the experience, to someone who can’t afford a ticket, to someone whose daddy isn’t on the board of Rolex.

In summary, the children are the future, not James Corden’s face.

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