There’s nothing quite like a sporting celebration, but the lash-up after Britain’s (almost) inevitable victory in the Davis Cup tennis final against Belgium this weekend should be unique. For a start, there will be hardly anyone there: just Judy Murray and Andy, with Jamie popping his head in: ‘Have some Irn-Bru boys, and, take another teacake.’ It’s a funny old team, with -pretty much only one man in the team, but it will be a huge personal triumph for Andy, every bit as special as Wimble-don and the Olympics. What a -triptych! And now David Lloyd is -having a go at him for ‘not giving enough back’ to tennis. Oh please: he’s not a product of the Lawn Tennis Association, thank heaven, but Andy Murray is a great British hero. The hopefully inevitable -victory in Ghent on Sunday (it could even be Saturday) will be Britain’s first triumph in the event for eight decades, since the long-flannelled days of Fred Perry and Bunny Austin. We might not be a great tennis nation, but we have one hell of a tennis player and we are going to be the best in the world.
The Davis Cup, with its raucous crowds and insane jingoism, is sport as showbiz. Like the ATP finals which just finished at the O2 with a comprehensive victory for Novak Djokovic. I was there for the semi-final when he swatted aside Rafa Nadal in about the time it takes to swig your first pint. It’s the very non-Wimbledon-ness that makes it such fun. Big lights, big rock music, big hair and lots of shouting (and that’s just the announcer). And what other major sporting venue has a giant 6ft artwork in the gents containing some improving advice from Celine Dion? Since you ask, it’s: ‘Everything that I decide to do means something, other-wise I don’t do it.’
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