Holty finds some inner mongrel at the tennis

I think I’ve found some inner-mongrel – at the tennis, of all places.

I’ve been to plenty of football and cricket games and let rip the odd passionate jibe.

But tennis on television seems so much more sedate, so polite.

Sure, the McEnroes and Hewitts of the world have given us the occasional bout of agro. But it just never seems to be the ultimate live spectator sport.

Like golf, there’s all the hush, hush between points. And the head swivelling to keep track of the ball seems oh so monotonous.

Then, I still have visions of Cliff Richard entertaining the Wimbledon crowd during wet weather, belting out a few tunes a cappella as the ladies and gentlemen of the crowd swayed and sang along. How nice that was.

I’ve whiled away hours in front of the television watching darts, poker, golf, and dare I suggest I’d watch marbles or backgammon if Fox Sports gave it a run.

Tennis, or so I thought, fell into the same category – tense one-on-one battle with all the tactics sports fans love to analyse.

But not a sport I’d rush to live – until this week.

A day at Sydney Olympic Park watching some of the top players in action at the Medibank International has converted me.

Unlike football or cricket, fans are close to the action. The cracking of the willow at cricket and the thumping of leather at the football are all distant noises, overcome by the passion of the crowd.

But at the tennis, the sounds are immediate, clear and crisp. Sit at either end of the court and the head swivelling is eliminated.

So intense is the involvement that it’s like playing a game of Wii sports.

I might have been premature, but I jumped on the Chris Guccione bandwagon early in the piece – against Lleyton Hewitt.

“C’mon Lleyton,” come the cries from the back of the stadium.

“Hang on,” I think to self. “They’re cheering against my man.”

“C’mon Gooch!”

It’s 6-6 in the first set. Tie break. I move to the edge of my seat.

Gooch wins the set. “Ha!” Get a load of that one, lady at the back of the court with the piercing voice. “Go Gooch, you good thing!”

Set two. Hewitt starts arguing with the linesman, telling him how to do his job. It’s a disgrace. I find some voice.

“Get off him Hewitt,” I spray uncontrollably.

“C’mon Lleyton.” There’s that annoying woman again.

Oh dear, I feel I’m becoming that bloke in Happy Gilmore. You know, the one who shouts “jackass” from the sidelines.

“Let ‘er rip Gooch!”

“C’mon Lleyton,” she says again.

“Go Gooch!”

Wife joins in: “C’mon Chris.”

Chris? Huh? “Call him The Gooch,” I suggest.

“But his name’s Chris,” she retorts.

“Yeah, whatever.” The adrenaline is pumping as we enter another tie-break: “Stick it up him Gooch! You’re all over him mate!”

“Yeeeaaaaahhh!!!” Our man wins the game.

There’s a standing ovation, fist pumping, a hoot or two, and a quick stare at the annoying woman at the back of the stadium.

We sit as players leave the court.

“Well, dear. Jolly good. Shall we adjourn to an outer court for a glimpse of another game?”

We’ll be back next year.

Have you had a Sydney sporting experience? Have you lost control? Maybe you think spectators are too unruly. Share your thoughts here.