Why Rafa and Nole would never have made it on Possil's mean streets

Saturday 19 May 2012

FELT somewhat queasy watching the Madrid Open tennis.

The young master MacDonald finds the last horse in Busby and becomes an instant favourite for the annual staging of The Derby.

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Hugh.MacDonald

The court was a sickly shade of blue. It reminded me of the living-room carpet the morning after my son had eaten his collection of Plasticine soldiers before wolfing down a chicken biryani. The man who cleaned the carpet asked why I had left him unsupervised. ''Because he is 24,'' I replied.

But back to Madrid, where the blue surface looked as if a group of Smurfs had been placed in the blender and the result spread over the court.Rafa Nadal and Novak Djokovic bleated on about the playing surface. One will not be surprised that these outbursts came after the Spaniard and the Serb lost. Now, I love Rafa and Nole so much that I have been the subject of a restraining order at grand slam press conferences. I keep grilling them with questions such as: ''Why are you so good?'' And the killer query: ''Can I offer you congratulations on your latest victory?'' And, obviously, following them back to their hotels. And asking for a lock of their hair. And going through their bins for nail clippings.So criticism of the dynamic duo from this quarter is unusual. But I am not having complaints about playing sports on dodgy surfaces. Now, I am not going to mention the traumatic experiences of playing on a red blaes pitch. My lips are sealed. Must stop sooking that superglue. But I come from a generation that took part in games in conditions that make Helmand look like a soft play area. The cliche that one has to earn the right to play gains some strength when it is applied to playing tennis on the corner of Killearn Street as traffic shoots past. An injury timeout was only called in the event of an admission to A&E. A let was played if one was knocked down placing a delicate volley over the net, or over the washing line as my maw insisted on calling it.The whole tournament was played with two rackets that had somehow been found in Possil. This, in terms of sheer unlikeliness, is the equivalent of finding a pair of unicorns playing bingo in the penguin enclosure of Edinburgh Zoo. The consistency of the ball had been tested by a variety of rabid dugs.This tournament was the very acme of sophistication compared to the golf events that later ensued in the leafy glades of Busby Glen or at the bottom of the MacDonald garden. Conditions at both venues could be somewhat primitive. The implements, or golf sticks as they were called, were, ahem, rudimentary. The positioning of the cup was somewhat problematic, too.The final hole had been dug at the very point of a large mound. An errant putt meant the ball sped down an incline so steep the next shot was taken from a different postcode. Laughter at a rival's narrow miss that turned into a three-mile putt prompted scenes that led to the formation of the UN peace-keeping force.The Derby would also induce some of us to stage an enactment on the streets of Busby. Lacking horses – I suspect our maws put all of Busby's equine strength on our play piece – we took our bikes to the top of Church Street and hurtled down towards the Cart. The jostling at Tattenham Corner – or to give its traditional name, the Masonic Hall – was rendered more exciting by an oncoming car. All stewards' inquiries were conducted over slugs of American Cream Soda as the competitors picked pieces of tarmac out of their knees.The version of the Olympics was similarly dangerous. The sprint was conducted after knocking the door of the carnaptious old man who is obligatory in every Scottish street. A false start was declared if one raced off before the codger came to the door and raised his stick above his napper. The hop, skip and jump was performed across the main street on a blind corner. The high jump used the washing line from the Possil Wimbledon.Now all these sporting activities are challenging, dangerous and make demands on competitors. In contrast, the blue surface at the Madrid Open was a bit slippy yet it was not to the taste of Rafa and Novak. My son would have eaten it, though. See above. And below. The stain is still on the carpet.

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Why Rafa and Nole would never have made it on Possil's mean streets

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