I can't say I know for sure how England feels on this saddest of days. But I do have an imagination, and sometimes it actually works, so I can take a stab at the monologue that might have been going on in some London pub after three or four pints last night ...
Bloody Americans. Always have to ruin everything, don't you? Not enough that we let you have your damn country even though we had the MIGHTIEST ARMY ON THE PLANET and might have stayed if we'd chosen, oh, we would have made it hot for you, you and your George Washington and your rabble army that couldn't have beaten a motley of football hooligans if the French hadn't bailed you out ...
But Our Andy? You had to take Our Andy, too? And what the bloody hell IS a Sam Querrey, anyway?
Something like that.
The only thing worse for the Brits, I imagine, is that this is tennis and not Olympic hockey, or we'd have been turning the 24th-seeded Querrey's upset of top-seeded Murray (the pride of England!) into the Miracle On Grass or some such thing. And I can't imagine how England will lose its mind if Querrey would jack around and actually win Wimbledon this weekend.
I'm guessing the reaction would be similar to the reaction the Brits have every Fourth of July. Which kind of looks like this.
Why, yes. Yes we are ungrateful.
And proud of it.