Why Wimbledon (British) Fans Support the Underdog

28th June 2012.

Centre Court, Wimbledon.

A closed roof, two-time champion and 15,000 British fans fuelled by strawberries and Pimms surround a 26-year-old looking for the biggest win of his career.

Each shot, amplified by the enclosed arena, is followed by a roar of unwavering support as a big-serving Czech endears himself to a liquored-up British public. As his 22nd ace seals a five-set victory, Lukas Rosol falls to his knees in celebration. He has just beaten Rafael Nadal to reach the third round of a grand slam for the second time. 

In three hours and 23 minutes, the world number 100 had managed to win over the support of an entire population from an eleven-time grand slam winner. It was a perfect representation of how an island of 66 million individuals can so often fall in love with an underdog. It’s a custom that is rooted deep in British culture and witnessed almost yearly at Wimbledon.

It’s a culture that I subscribe to but others may not understand. After reading the many, many, MANY negative comments posted by Djokovic fans in response to my controversial view on the Serbians ninth Australian Open victory, I noticed a very familiar pattern. There seemed to be a consensus that because I wasn’t head over heels in love with Novak, I must therefore be another 'Fedal' fanboy. That is not the case. Although, I appreciate the greatness of the big three and there is no doubt in my mind that Federer, Djokovic and Nadal will go down as three of the best to have ever done it. It's the potential of seeing a David vs Goliath story play out on the biggest stages in the world, that fuels my love for tennis and sport in general.

It is not the most lucrative of ideals. Success may be limited to a few games a tournament. However, when that one major upset arises, filled with the overwhelming taste of the unexpected, it becomes a representation of hope for a working-class community repeatedly overshadowed by their societal superiors. Something exemplified in 2013 when a determined 116-ranked Ukrainian, by the name of Sergiy Stakhovsky, ousted a millionaire defending champion in Roger Federer at Wimbledon. 

It also represents the second facet of why Brits love an underdog story- our search for fairness. Although earned, Roger’s wealth compared to that of Stakhovsky's, automatically makes the Ukrainian a favourite amongst fans. In a sport so outspoken against the lack of funding for lower-tiered events, this matchup was a prime representation of the shortcomings the sport faces in general. And although Federer was kitted out with the best possible medical, analytical and coaching team in pro-tennis, he was tactically bettered by a 6ft 3in big-server who became a serve and volley specialist for three of the best hours of his career. 

Of course, the British public is not exclusively married to this way of thinking. When it comes to one of our own, it is irrelevant who they are facing. They will garner support large enough to rival that of the Roman empire. If Sir Andy Murray steps onto the beautiful green grass, associated with the bi-polar British summer, facing off against a 200-ranked qualifier. 14,990 of the 15,000 fans that have packed out Wimbledon centre court would be living every shot the Scottish genius takes. In this instance, the pride of being British overtakes the love for the underdog. 

It is imperative to understand the appreciation that the country has for those at the top of the game. After all, for the past eleven years, London has showcased the best players at the end of year ATP tour finals. Constantly, selling out the O2 arena in London with ease. However, the titles that the big three have accumulated over the past 15 years mean that regardless of ranking, they will always be seen as favourites. Therefore, many UK natives, including myself will automatically and unconsciously root for the opposing player. 

So, if in future podcasts or posts you see me or other Brits disappointed that one of Djokovic, Nadal or Federer have won a tournament, do not mistake that emotion for resentment. Rather, it’s an emotion of grief that the personified version of British hope has faltered at the final hurdle.

Patrick Stenson contributes to The Slice from outside London, England.