I defer to legendary sportswriter Dan Jenkins on this one. It was Jenkins, after all, who used to refer to the powers-that-be at Wimbledon as air marshals and wing commanders, implying that the place was run with an English sense of propriety and order practically military in its defiance of compromise and common sense.
Which was made manifest yesterday when this happened.
I mean, seriously: They wouldn't let the man answer a call of nature. How much more Wimbledon can you get? Sorry, old chap, you've used up your two allotted bathroom breaks. Nature will simply have to wait. Play on.
Not even the man, Pablo Cuevas, threatening to pee in a ball can could soften those stiff upper lips. It was almost noble in a way, Wimbledon defying the human bladder the way all those air marshals and wing commanders defied the Jerries during the Battle of Britain. You could almost hear Edward R. Murrow in the background, intoning "This ... is London."
And then adding: "You'll go when we tell you to go. And not an instant sooner."