This was a rematch: Andy Murray had played Roger Federer in the Wimbledon final a month earlier, and lost. He was tearful afterwards. I was a line umpire during that match, too. It’s intense work: you have to concentrate all the time, particularly with players like Roger, who hits his cross shots so hard. And when Andy is playing, there’s a different pressure: you don’t want to make a single mistake. One wrong call can throw a player.
I started umpiring when I was 15 and managed to get to Wimbledon in that first year, 2002. Before that, I’d been a ball boy, and had enjoyed that responsibility. I came to it through my teacher at school in the Midlands; I was never a player – I was always more interested in football.
Umpiring the baseline, as I am in this photograph, is always the hardest: there’s a lot of dust thrown up, and it’s often hard to distinguish between that and chalk. Certain matches are always harder, too. When you have players with a bad-boy image, you have to be on the ball. When Rafael Nadal plays, and you’re umpiring the long line, it’s often hard to see the ball: he seems to stand further out than other players and, of course, is a lefty.
When the Olympics came around, Wimbledon was a different place. It had a vibrancy. The crowds were different, the security arrangements were different, and there was much more colour – a lot of pink, instead of the traditional greens and minimal logos. Volunteers had big foam hands to show people where to go. The players wore colours, which at Wimbledon is unheard of. Crowds followed countries instead of players, which meant the outside courts were just as busy, if not more so, than Centre Court. It was the same venue but everything was different. There were still strawberries, though.
I had one day off during the tennis fortnight; I went to the Olympic Park and soaked up the atmosphere. I had two tops and had to wash one every day in the bath of my hotel room, hoping it would be dry the following day.
Everyone was predicting that Federer would win the men’s gold. The noise at the final was crazy. It’s one of the things I remember most about that day. There was a lot of patriotism from both players’ supporters. If I had been in Andy’s shoes, I would have found it overwhelming, but I think it helped him.
Andy won the first set 6-2, which hadn’t happened to Roger for a long time. From then on, I felt the momentum was with Andy; his confidence grew. When you’re umpiring, you can watch the match when the players take breaks, but don’t really get to follow it as it happens; you’re just focused on the next call.
Andy won in straight sets. I felt so much relief for him. I remember sitting there, watching him jump in the air – you can tell how delighted he is. With that win, he had suddenly got round a player he couldn’t get round before. The crowd certainly helped, which is not to take anything away from Andy’s playing. It seemed to be the trigger he needed to go on to greater things; he won Wimbledon the following year, the first British male player since 1936. He must have gone into that tournament with a real sense of belief.
• As told to Hannah Booth
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