The Spradley Four

With the 125^th Wimbledon taking place while we were here in England, it seemed like a perfect match for us. Yet all the tickets had been sold out for

months and they were going for $3000 on ebay. Our friend Philip Massey learned that some tickets were released each day but people had to camp over night to get those.

(finding humor on our long train ride)

Thus when we set off on the 1 ½ hour trip to Wimbledon yesterday, our highest expectations were set on looking at the venue from the outside and getting a picture at the main gate. When we stepped off the train at Wimbledon station around 1 pm, a tournament representative informed us you could purchase same-day admission tickets for access to the outer courts. The only problem, he told us, was that the wait for admission was at least four hours. Since, our aim had not been to get inside we set out on the ½ hour walk to the venue.

It was not long into the walk when we found cones and signs marking where the queue (line) had backed up to. Yet as we approached the venue we could not figure out the length of the queue.

“Why not give it a try,” we said. “Let’s get in the queue and see if we can bear the wait?” So we settled down in the queue to see if we could beat the waiting game. After about twenty minutes they began letting in a big group of people. It turned out that

we were very near the front of the line and after swinging through security we found ourselves laying down twenty pounds a person to get into the tournament grounds. We could hardly believe our eyes. We were in and with access to all the outer courts we set out to see what we could see.

After my parents split off from us we managed to slip into some front rows seats to see a men’s singles match between Beck and Garcia-Lopez. We had never heardof either player but it was stunning to watch our first professional tennis match. The grass was beautiful, the ball girls/boys fascinated Natania and Claire, and the tennis was excellent. After watching most of this match we caught a glimpse of a men’s doubles match before going to a different court to watch Benesova and Strycova beat Cibulkova and Kyitova in women’s doubles. “Surreal, it just feels surreal to be sitting here at Wimbledon,” Becky and I kept saying to each other.

Then after a rain break cleared the stands at another court we managed to get phenomenal seats to watch Flavia Pennetta beat a Russian by the name of Rodina. Having enjoyed watching Pannetta on the television in a previous major, we solidified our allegiance to her as fans.

We had some difficulty in re-connecting my parents in the teaming tennis grounds. Once re-united with them we were faced with a decision. Should we sit on the hill and watch the big screen or get in the massive queue (a queue is a line!) to see if we could get resale tickets to the Centre Court where Federer was to play. Becky, my mom, and the girls decided to head for home as it was already about 8pm, while my dad and I got in the queue. From the queue I had glimpses of the match where the American Isner was beat by Almagro. I also enjoyed the benefits of my Dad’s super-outgoing nature as a married couple (Irish Man and English woman who lived in Wimbledon) shared their pizza and strawberries with cream with us.

It was a long wait but we did eventually get two tickets at five pounds each to see what was left of Federer’s match. We got to our excellent seats at Wimbledon’s Centre Court in time to watch the last two sets where Federer crushed the Frenchman Adrian Mannarino.

To watch Federer in person at Wimbledon’s Centre Court was stunning. Yet, I couldn’t help but be amazed by the simple humanity of Federer and all the spectators at the venue. Everyone there will one day face their Creator and whether or not they won ten Wimbledon’s or owned box seats, what really mattered is if they knew Jesus. The experience was sur-real on several levels.

These meditations were quickly quieted by the harsh reality of life’s daily demands, as they often are. Becky, my mom and the girls had arrived home but without one critical piece of metal – a key. They were locked out on a dreary English night at 10:30pm and the only key (not in the house) was in Daryl’s pocket sitting at the Wimbledon railway station. After about 40 minutes of trying to break in through the mail slot they gave up and camped outside and the girls fell asleep in their arms. Around 11:45 our next door neighbor came home and insisted they sit on his couch while he made them tea until we got home at 12:15 or so! What an end to our day!

-Daryl