Tennis is the sport that people love to ignore. NASCAR, golf, and hockey are routinely ribbed by people who just “don’t get it,” becoming fodder for the likes of washed-up ventriloquists, plebeians, and Rodney Dangerfield respectively. It’s likely due to the fact that the U.S. hasn’t dominated men’s tennis since the ’90s, but that doesn’t detract from the fact that it’s a very F sport. Wimbledon, the sport’s biggest stage, is therefore an inherently frat event, and I’m here to prove it.
There will be detractors. There always are. Let’s get their argument out of the way: Wimbledon is a British event that is dominated largely by Europeans. If you don’t enjoy watching Serena Williams work it in a tight dress (AKA you don’t have blood vessels in your peen) then it’s kind of tough for the “USA All Day” crowd, one that all truly frat types fall into, to appreciate. Add that to the fact that tennis can take forever, and that the announcers talk in painfully English accents, and you have a case for it falling out from under the frumbrella (frat umbrella). Does that about cover it? Good. Now to embarrass those negative nellies.
For starters, tennis is just as country club as golf. On the days that folks want a little more sweat than a trip around the links, tennis is the go-to sport. Play a few games, get the old heart rate up, and then retire for a Bellevue and a discussion of the stock market. Women wear short, hot, respectable dresses and gentlemen wear athletic clothing that could fly at a yacht party. Scoring is broken down in its own specific terms, and players are referred to as “Mister” or “Miss.” The audience falls into complete silence. The only sounds are the pop of the ball and heavy grunting which sounds like two women fucking (frat). After a hard-fought match, the opponents approach each other with tact, shake the judge’s hand, and salute the crowd which finally breaks into raucous applause. It’s fucking dignified, because that’s the way it has always been. Respecting tradition is as frat as it gets.
Wimbledon takes the frat factor to a whole new echelon. The women’s trophy? It’s a fucking dish. For sandwiches and such. The men’s trophy? A silver gilt monstrosity a foot and a half tall. Not to mention that Andre Agassi, a Vegas native and the perennial bad boy of the sport, probably won a title at Wimbledon while coked out of his dome. Cocaine and women in the kitchen? That’s Frat 101: Intro to Fraternity Procedure and Getting Your Mind Fucked. The fact that Agassi, in all his flashy and drug-fueled glory, is the last great American male to play Wimbledon means that we’re constantly referencing victories of ages past. Sound familiar? Sounds like how we helicopter our dongs at the British every time they open their bad-teeth-having, funny-talking, couldn’t-drink-tea-from-a-harbor mouths. It also means that modern American players are probably as disappointing on grass as our readers are in the sack. They’re just like you, only richer and more athletic.
Sure, Wimbledon takes place on foreign soil, and maybe it doesn’t feature skull-rattling hits or incredible aerial stylings. It’s still steeped in beautiful tradition and features its own brand of unforgettable moments. It’s the biggest event of a sport that knows a little bit about history and respect. That sense of refinement, coupled with intense competition in exquisite apparel, makes tennis as frat as a sport can get. Thus Wimbledon itself is proven undeniably great and, as we all know, greatness is frat as fuck..
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