I had my kids seeing me from the stands, clapping to me when I walked past with the trophy. That’s not a vision I had in my wildest dreams that my family would see me win Wimbledon.
The only thing ‘championship’ about Wimbledon is its prestige.
Everyone knows what the Masters is, even if you’re a non-golfer. People know what Wimbledon is. They know what the Super Bowl is. There are certain events that people just know about.
If some angel comes tonight in my dreams and says, ‘Okay, Goran, you’re going to win Wimbledon tomorrow, but you won’t be able to touch the racket ever again in your life’, I would take that.
What would I do to improve Wimbledon? How about moving it to the summer?
New Yorkers love it at the US Open when you spill your guts... Spill your guts at Wimbledon and they make you stop and clear it up.
That was the perfect day. Centre Court was packed. I won in two sets, I didn’t drop a set the whole Championship. Even in my perfect dream I couldn’t have dreamt a moment like that.
Every time I hit the ball on the wall I used to pretend I was there. When I went to sleep I used to pretend I was there.
The public never appears to tire of... strawberries and cream, and the theory that you run the risk of boring people with endless photo montages of the Chelsea Pensioners, or close-ups of a Pimm’s Cup sprouting all kinda of flora, has yet to be proven. People like Wimbledon in the same way they like blue jeans or their own spouses: For the pleasure yielded by their reliable sameness.
They [the All England Club] act like they’ve got the biggest tournament in the world, and they’re right, they do.