The Emma and Andy show but no show.

The Emma and Andy show but no show.

There was a buzz and surge of adrenaline at Centre Court. Wimbledon had returned to something like the status quo and normal business had been resumed. How the Wimbledon cognoscenti have missed their tennis for the last couple of years or so but human behaviour has been under the severest examination and we've all come through the often harrowing ordeal with flying colours. It's been the most sombre of experiences but Covid 19 may have left the building permanently. Wimbledon just pinched itself with delight. Well done Ladies and Gentlemen.

Yesterday we witnessed quite a few changes but the atmosphere at SW19 was unmistakable and the young protagonists on Centre Court may have led you to believe that Wimbledon is now entering a new but important age. It's left behind the technical fluidity and genius of Martina Navratilova, Chris Evert, Stefi Graaf and even further back in time the esteemed likes of Billy Jean King, Maria Bueno and Yvonne Goolagong now Cawley. But the dynamics and acoustics are much the same and the women's game is still flourishing. 

For instance the referee's chair looked even more comfortable than ever, the favoured choice of fruit juice between games is no longer Robinson's and now lies in the capable hands of Britvic. Even the scoreboard, although still electronic, has undergone a radical refit. The scores are still the same but there is something noticeably different about the scoreboard itself. British hopes at this year's Wimbledon though have been a dealt a dramatic blow and we're barely out of the traps. Nobody really saw this coming. 

First on court bounded Emma Raducanu, the teenage sensation, who now has the distinction of being one of the first British female tennis players to raise aloft the US Open for decades, bounded onto Centre Court like a girl at her first end of term school prom. She was bright eyed and bushy tailed, enthusiastic, bristling with energy and wondering whether she could achieve the impossible. In the end, Radacanu didn't quite make the grade and besides this was her Wimbledon debut and there's always next year. 

The young Brit with the Romanian name was beaten by Caroline Garcia of France 6-3 6-3 and the match was over in a blink of an eyelid or so it seemed. Of course Raducanu's game has yet to adjust itself to the rigorous demands of the big match scenario. She is a novice, a tyro, wet behind the ears and still learning the ropes. The basic rudiments still come naturally to her but her career is still in its infancy and there are happier and more successful days that may come to define both her personality and character.

Your mind wandered back to the one and only time a British female tennis player has walked through the gates of tennis headquarters and actually won the Ladies Singles title. In 1977, which coincided with Her Majesty the Queen's Silver Jubilee, Virginia Wade, she of the mauve cardigan and the famous curtsey before royalty, beat Dutch power player Betty Stove with the customary grace and simplicity that none in Britain ever thought we'd see in our lifetime. 

Now 45 years later Emma Raducanu demonstrated some of the potential gifts that may need to be refined and tweaked with the onset of maturity. It can never be easy to step into your first ever Wimbledon and find yourself surrounded by a fiercely patriotic crowd, spasmodic yelling and rapturous applause every time she booms down a ferocious first serve. But our Emma nervously trod the pristine green grass, bounced gently on the baseline in readiness for those long and sustained assaults on her French opponent before thundering the ball down the centre in the hope of completing a whole succession of aces and immaculate forehand passes down the line. 

For a while her game showed genuine signs of promise and optimism for the future. Then Garcia immediately established herself as the cleverer and more experienced player. Her legs may have been bandaged but Garcia was both professional, polished, far more knowledgeable and in the end, possessed all of the more artistic groundstrokes which flowed from her racket like honey from a jar. She forced the game with a greater recognition of what was demanded of her, the ball flying effortlessly from the tight racket strings with almost ridiculous ease.

Before Raducana had had time to find her bearings within the context of the game itself Garcia had by far the greater delicacy and finesse, a greater nobility of spirit, cutting the ball perfectly, slicing the ball beautifully when the occasions warranted it and then attacking the net to punch her winners away forcefully and lethally. Garcia stretched her British opponent to places she may have been reluctant to go to, manoeuvring and outwitting Raducanu at the brief and critical stages of the game. The backhand slice and the whippy nature of her destructive returns proved too much for the British teenager.

In a straightforward first set for Garcia, the French girl breezed through 6-3 6-3. The second set indeed became an impressive formality for Garcia. The cross court, deeply penetrative shots came to characterise everything she did. The handsome slices almost seemed to flop over the net and we began to see a vivid disintegration of Raducanu's best laid plans. Garcia scurried and scampered but with an obvious economy of effort. It almost felt as if she was already planning for her next opponent.

After a classic exhibition of all round excellence on a tennis court, Garcia seemed to flick and swat the ball over the net rather like an annoying speck of dust on your mantlepiece. The shots were oozing sweetly from the French woman and British hopes were beginning to sink without trace. The second set was clinched decisively and Garcia through to the next round at Wimbledon. The girl who became famous for finishing off her school exams while still on the fringes of the big time, will now return to Wimbledon next year far more enlightened and even more prepared for whatever may lie in front of her.

Meanwhile amid a flurry of yet more apprehensive and furious racket twiddling, two time Wimbledon champion Andy Murray, from Dunblane in Scotland, fell at the first hurdle this time. John Isler 37, an ominously powerful all court server, seemed to race through the first set and then by tie breaks in the second and fourth. Murray rallied valiantly at times but a combination of debilitating back injuries and setbacks have hampered his career and at 35, the Scotsman, full of gritty resilience and obvious fighting spirit, may have to resign himself to the fact that these are his twilight years. He won the third set but this was merely a mild consolation.

There were the spectacular cross court returns, the lovely drop shots from all conceivable angles, the aggressive chip and charge games to the net and another barrage of silky slices and dainty lobs that seemed to just leave Isler bewildered and helpless. The forehand and backhand do seem to be working efficiently but the snap and agility seems to have deserted Murray's game. Simple shots at the net were squandered and Isler just grew in confidence.

So Raducanu and Murray have left Wimbledon and Cameron Norrie is the next British representative who the nation must be hoping will find himself in contention for the next Wimbledon's men singles winning finalist. But yesterday British tennis found itself staring at the enticing runners up prize of strawberries and cream and a refreshing jug of Pimms. Patience of course is a virtue but some of us are quite content to wait for Britain's next tennis renaissance. It could be sooner rather than later. We'll see.