The dying art of sports commentary

Wimbledon is here at last, after its absence in 2020. What struck me watching the French Open on television a couple of weeks before was just how much rubbish I had to listen to if I kept the sound on. There are now too many matches broadcast, which means more and more commentators spouting off about the game in the middle of rallies. I don’t know why viewers don’t raise hell with the networks about these non-stop blabbermouths who interrupt our viewing. We’ve become a nation of sheep, accepting everything so-called experts throw at us.

Televised sport needs commentators only before and after the event. Although the Wimbledon lot spout off a lot less than the French Open blabbermouths, I think back fondly to the impeccable Dan Maskell, whose ‘Oh my word’ was as far as he went after witnessing an extraordinary shot. After Maskell came the great South African doubles expert Frew McMillan, who handles the mic as deftly as he handled his racquet while winning the Wimbledon doubles title numerous times. Frew was a buddy of mine during our playing days and he’s one of the few today who allow the viewer to enjoy the action without being told non-stop what they are watching.

So why do viewers put up with it? Sport, after all, is a spectacle that needs the minimum of information as the action takes place in full view of the audience. As the great Groucho Marx once told the viewers in Horse Feathers: ‘I’ve got to stay here, but there’s no reason why you folks shouldn’t go out into the lobby until this thing blows over.’ Those highly paid blabbermouths should be forced to give a similar preamble before each broadcast. But I’m just whistling Dixie, as they used to say about lost causes.