TENNIS: Mick Cleary and Jon Henderson in London
THERE is scarcely an inch of the vast Wimbledon complex which is not landscaped with signposts, manned by livery-clad information guides carrying sandwich-boards or outlined in the bulging information brochures.
The only thing the authorities forgot to include for the thronging crowd was an explanation of just where the hell all the favourites had gone.
Those who wanted a dose of reassuring familiarity had to head for Centre Court (or, for the unlucky many, for one of the touts clutching a fistful of tickets) where Steffi Graf followed Tim Henman and Pete Sampras.
Graf is looking fit, sharp and keen. That she has problems is nothing new. There has been some sort of anxiety or injury nearly every year. And every year she just gets on with it in her hustling no-nonsense sort of way. It will take some thing remarkable to put a stop to her here.
At least defending men’s champion Pete Sampras upheld the honour of the seeded players when he won his third-round meeting with Karol Kucera.
The five days of seed-bashing that went before raised the prospect that Sampras might also receive an undignified mauling by an upstart opponent.
But he disposed of Kucera, a London-based Slovak, in his 24th straight match win at Wimbledon, and went on heading for the final.
About the only criticism you can make of the American, as a grass-court player at least, is that he spends most of the time on court looking so utterly miserable — despite his sublime skill.
Finally, what of those glowing balls we heard so much about before the tournament? Slazenger produced
34 000 of the luminous yellow missiles, the idea being that their greater visibility might produce a helpful tracer effect for those facing the really big hitters. Conversely, of course, the big hitters could benefit from this effect in locating their targets.
But then, as Boris Becker said, “I didn’t see much of a difference.”