If you are ever walking through a green and leafy suburb of west London, and you happen to hear a high-pitched, banshee-like wail that goes through you even more than the sound of fingernails being scratched down a blackboard, it's probably a women's tennis match at Wimbledon.
Like many sports - such as football, rugby and cricket - the women's version is definitely not as high-quality and as skilful as the men's, no matter what women or the "equality" brigade believe.
But in tennis, the quality of women's tennis has actually decreased in recent years, with many of the top-ranked players having unpronounceable names that nobody remembers.
Maybe the decline of female tennis players is the reason why many of them have to wail like banshees every time they hit the ball.
What IS the point of all these Volley Dollies?
By Allison Pearson
24th June 2009
Daily Mail
Don't be surprised if Michael Stich is found in a heap on Centre Court this week with a Slazenger logo beaten into his handsome face.
The former Wimbledon champion has taken an ungentlemanly smash at women tennis players.
On Radio Five, he accused them of being there not to play well but to look sexy.
'That's what they sell,' said Stich. 'They want to look good.'
At this point, I am supposed to leap to the defence of the girls they call Volley Dollies. Sadly, I can't. Because the truth is female tennis has become tedious beyond belief.
I can't remember the last time I really thrilled to a ladies' match at Wimbledon. It might have been 1999.
That was the year Steffi Graf decided to retire and spend the rest of her life playing mixed doubles with Andre Agassi.
Impeccable timing, our Steffi. Since she quit, women's tennis has been declining faster than a Martina Navratilova forehand whipped down the line off a Chris Evert serve.
Nowadays, if it's a women's match on the television, I simply switch off or drift off - though, admittedly, it can be hard to doze, as several girls now feel that no rally is complete without grunting like a bison in the final stages of labour.
A big noise: 2004 Wimbledon winner Maria Sharapova
In her match on Monday, ex-champion Maria Sharapova covered up a so-so performance by hollering throughout.
Michelle Larcher De Brito, whose shrieks have registered at 109 decibels, hit back at her critics, saying: 'Television viewers can always hit the mute button if they don't like the sound I make.'
Arrogant and charmless, there speaks the modern female player.
Women's tennis is not just a pale shadow of its former self. It's a tanned, noisy, vain, characterless, coma-inducing version of its former self.
Name me the top women players? As a lifelong Wimbledon fan, I am shocked to find that I barely know who some of them are.
Golovin? Hantuchova? Kirilenko? Me neither. It's as if there's a secret armaments factory somewhere in Eastern Europe which churns out ballistic baseline belles who sound like a terrible hand in Scrabble.
The rot undoubtedly started with Anna Kournikova, who got to be the highest-earning female tennis star without actually winning anything, except Best Legs In Show.
Of course, beauty and an appreciation of the female form were always part of women's tennis. Remember the young Evonne Goolagong skipping between tramlines like a gazelle on a piece of elastic?
Or Clive James's 'Bring me the sweat of Gabriela Sabatini', a lip-smacking ode to the lissom Argentinian player?
But back then, the women's game was full of personalities so big they didn't need to make a loud noise.
The only racket came from the racquets; that lovely hollow pock-pock-pock that was once the sound of summer itself.
Now we have players like the supposed world No1 Dinara Safina, who crumbles under pressure that Steffi and Martina would have swallowed with the Robinson's barley water.
Meanwhile, the Williams sisters, who have dominated women's tennis, look on course to - yawn - meet in this year's final for possibly the 26th time.
You can admire Serena and Venus's athleticism, but for me they lack the poetry and heart-stopping grandeur of the greats. And sibling rivalry is no substitute for the gladiatorial battles between the men at the top of their game.
Last year's epic men's final between Federer and Nadal (the longest in Wimbledon history) made you feel grateful you were alive to witness it. Blink twice and you missed the women's final, though the prize money is now the same.
In their heyday, I would have walked over glass to see Martina or Steffi play. But if you offered me tickets for this year's ladies' final, I'd cite a previous engagement - washing my hair. Quite simply, women's tennis lacks balls.
dailymail.co.uk
Like many sports - such as football, rugby and cricket - the women's version is definitely not as high-quality and as skilful as the men's, no matter what women or the "equality" brigade believe.
But in tennis, the quality of women's tennis has actually decreased in recent years, with many of the top-ranked players having unpronounceable names that nobody remembers.
Maybe the decline of female tennis players is the reason why many of them have to wail like banshees every time they hit the ball.
What IS the point of all these Volley Dollies?
By Allison Pearson
24th June 2009
Daily Mail
Don't be surprised if Michael Stich is found in a heap on Centre Court this week with a Slazenger logo beaten into his handsome face.
The former Wimbledon champion has taken an ungentlemanly smash at women tennis players.
On Radio Five, he accused them of being there not to play well but to look sexy.
'That's what they sell,' said Stich. 'They want to look good.'
At this point, I am supposed to leap to the defence of the girls they call Volley Dollies. Sadly, I can't. Because the truth is female tennis has become tedious beyond belief.
I can't remember the last time I really thrilled to a ladies' match at Wimbledon. It might have been 1999.
That was the year Steffi Graf decided to retire and spend the rest of her life playing mixed doubles with Andre Agassi.
Impeccable timing, our Steffi. Since she quit, women's tennis has been declining faster than a Martina Navratilova forehand whipped down the line off a Chris Evert serve.
Nowadays, if it's a women's match on the television, I simply switch off or drift off - though, admittedly, it can be hard to doze, as several girls now feel that no rally is complete without grunting like a bison in the final stages of labour.
A big noise: 2004 Wimbledon winner Maria Sharapova
In her match on Monday, ex-champion Maria Sharapova covered up a so-so performance by hollering throughout.
Michelle Larcher De Brito, whose shrieks have registered at 109 decibels, hit back at her critics, saying: 'Television viewers can always hit the mute button if they don't like the sound I make.'
Arrogant and charmless, there speaks the modern female player.
Women's tennis is not just a pale shadow of its former self. It's a tanned, noisy, vain, characterless, coma-inducing version of its former self.
Name me the top women players? As a lifelong Wimbledon fan, I am shocked to find that I barely know who some of them are.
Golovin? Hantuchova? Kirilenko? Me neither. It's as if there's a secret armaments factory somewhere in Eastern Europe which churns out ballistic baseline belles who sound like a terrible hand in Scrabble.
The rot undoubtedly started with Anna Kournikova, who got to be the highest-earning female tennis star without actually winning anything, except Best Legs In Show.
Of course, beauty and an appreciation of the female form were always part of women's tennis. Remember the young Evonne Goolagong skipping between tramlines like a gazelle on a piece of elastic?
Or Clive James's 'Bring me the sweat of Gabriela Sabatini', a lip-smacking ode to the lissom Argentinian player?
But back then, the women's game was full of personalities so big they didn't need to make a loud noise.
The only racket came from the racquets; that lovely hollow pock-pock-pock that was once the sound of summer itself.
Now we have players like the supposed world No1 Dinara Safina, who crumbles under pressure that Steffi and Martina would have swallowed with the Robinson's barley water.
Meanwhile, the Williams sisters, who have dominated women's tennis, look on course to - yawn - meet in this year's final for possibly the 26th time.
You can admire Serena and Venus's athleticism, but for me they lack the poetry and heart-stopping grandeur of the greats. And sibling rivalry is no substitute for the gladiatorial battles between the men at the top of their game.
Last year's epic men's final between Federer and Nadal (the longest in Wimbledon history) made you feel grateful you were alive to witness it. Blink twice and you missed the women's final, though the prize money is now the same.
In their heyday, I would have walked over glass to see Martina or Steffi play. But if you offered me tickets for this year's ladies' final, I'd cite a previous engagement - washing my hair. Quite simply, women's tennis lacks balls.
dailymail.co.uk
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