Hooptedoodle #338 - Well Said, Johanna

I'm not a big tennis fan, though I can waste whole afternoons watching matches on TV if I get caught up. Wimbledon is on the telly. It's a British institution. Strawberries and cream, top players, excitement, thrills and shocks - and it's all brought to us by the BBC. In fact it would be difficult to find much fault with the way it is brought to us by the BBC, but they do suffer a little from the delusion that they somehow own the event. Having given us the Women's Football World Cup, we are now lucky enough to have Wimbledon bestowed upon us. We are not worthy. [At least it is one thing remaining for which we do not have to pay the Murdoch family.]

Yesterday Johanna Konta, who is a British player, lost her quarter-final match in the Ladies' Singles. I didn't see the game, but I did see this clip of the post-match press interview [click to watch it - it's worth the time]. One journalist, who would have been fawning and offering to wash her car if she had won, assumes the role of careers teacher when she loses - we will have an insensitive, analytical look at her weaknesses, and the camera will give close-ups if she is moved to tears. Great TV, too.

Well, no. I am delighted to observe that Ms Konta pulled him up very nicely, and told him his fortune. One small but maybe significant blow against the army of overpaid parasites who make a soft living out of the media aspects of professional sport, capitalising on the dedication, talent, hard work and heartache of others. Just because this twerp gets to interview or write about the best players in the world does not give him any credentials of his own - knock him down with a French loaf. I am sick of seeing microphones being stuck under the noses of distressed sportsmen and women who are obviously struggling to keep it all in.

"How disappointed are you feeling at this moment, Mauricio?"

"Why don't you go and **** yourself, you moron?"

Nice one, Johanna - I shall follow your career with more interest!