50 Shades of Andy

Roger Federer entered the record books (yet again) following his three sets to one victory over Andy Murray in the final at Wimbledon. Not only was this a record seventh title at the oldest tennis tournament in the world, it returned him to the number one ranking, further cementing his status as the greatest tennis player of all time. Oh, and he also single handedly saved the British hospital system from entering total meltdown.

At the precise moment when Murray successfully served out the first set, pumping a clenched fist in understated celebration, statisticians in the UK began scrambling through the record books. Not the sports geeks with their advanced metrics and statistical analysis, but sociologists researching the direct impact of rare sporting triumph on local population growth.

As the first Briton to step onto Centre Court on the final day of the tournament since the great Fred Perry in 1936 (my sincere apologies to all the British ball boys and girls who contribute during the final each year), Andy was one small step closer to the UK’s greatest sporting triumph post 1966 and Geoff Hurst’s phantom goal that beat West Germany in the World Cup final.

Lost in the jubilation of England’s win in 1966 is the little known fact that nine months after that famous victory at Wembley stadium, maternity wards across the country were operating beyond capacity, struggling to cope with the influx of hundreds of thousands of women literally ready to pop.

Whilst hospital administrators had experienced similar spikes in admissions following World Wars I & II, when the good soldiers celebrated returning home from the front by playing the beast with two backs, nothing compared to what they encountered in April 1967.

Just imagine Bobby Moore raising the Jules Rimet trophy in triumph while ecstatic screams of ‘Gordon’, ‘Jack’, ‘Jimmy’ and ‘Nobby’ echoed from homes throughout the countryside.  

So when Murray won the first set, executives in the public healthcare sector with painful memories of the sixties started to draw up contingency plans for sudden population growth, knowing full well a home grown Wimbledon victory could send the public hospital system into a tailspin.

As a sex symbol Andy Murray is the equivalent of a Janice Soprano / Ralph Cifaretto sex scene (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vp8fqWcAY08). He constantly looks nauseas and his on court facial expressions fluctuate between two distinct moods: ‘I need to take a dump my stomach cramps are killing me’ and ‘why do farts in the shower always smell worse than regular ones?’ Yet this would be no impediment to the unbridled explosion of passion that would erupt following seventy plus years of pent up frustration.

Not only would the local men be stimulated into activity by the glory of the Union Jack on the sporting battlefield, women would respond with a ferocity never before witnessed. Aroused by ’50 Shades of Grey’, porn cleverly disguised as a nondescript paperback novel, today’s woman would not be satisfied with  ninety minutes of sport followed by ninety seconds of passion. Today’s woman would need to be satisfied with some heavy topspin, wicked slice, new balls and a couple of aces.

Just imagine it…36 million Brits engaged in hybrid mixed doubles on the cusp of the biggest collective sexual climax since Dirk Diggler first introduced himself to Roller Girl.

Perish the thought.

Thank goodness for Roger Federer, standing in the way of this rampant root-fest like a naked picture of Wendy Harmer. Despite his recent struggles against Rafa and the Djoker, Federer is still the premier grass court player in the world, and his big serve, soft touch and wonderful court vision, instantly deflated whatever enthusiasm had built up during the first set.  

Tinged with sadness and regret, Britons across the world today resumed the daily grind. The women returning to the refuge of their socially acceptable porn whilst they ride the tube to and from work, and the men waiting desperately for team GB in the Olympics football tournament for another shot at glory.