It is in the very nature of human beings to vent our resentment at the highest authority. A single, domineering figure in sport can turn many fans away – because the very action of watching sport becomes boring. People will inevitably ask: “Why do they always win?”
Let us take a sport in which there does appear to be some truth behind this claim, Formula One. It has recently been suggested by Lewis Hamilton that the races have become even more boring because Sebastian Vettel always wins, and has “won already” in the context of the championship.
The champion-elect has undoubtedly lived up to the ‘German efficiency’ stereotype; his recent Japanese Grand Prix victory was the 35th of his career victory and his fifth in a row. Comparisons have been drawn to the dominance of Michael Schumacher, another German, a decade ago.
Hamilton recalls falling asleep whilst watching these races because he knew what the result would be. Why should fans wish to watch what is essentially a re-enactment of the last four races? There is no interest in a sport that is no longer competitive.
This is the central issue: competitiveness. Take a sport like Rugby Union, for example. Internationally, the top three southern-hemisphere sides are recognised as New Zealand, South Africa and Australia. Most would indicate New Zealand as the dominant team of the three.
However, it is in the very nature of rugby that a single missed pass, dropped ball or errant kick could lead to the loss of several points and a setback for the entire team if the other side capitalises upon the mistake – just ask Bryan Habana after his slice against New Zealand led to an All-Black try back in September.
Nobody moans about the All-Blacks regularly winning in the Four Nations, because there is always a high degree of uncertainty even for the favoured team.
Men’s tennis is also dominated by a top three, but tennis is even more intensely competitive than rugby on the men’s side; any weak performance or misfiring tactics could result in Novak Djokovic, Rafael Nadal or Andy Murray losing the match.
There is a decisive element of experience and self-belief in such situations for these players (Murray, for example, turned a two-set deficit against Fernando Verdasco in the Wimbledon quarters into a victory largely fashioned out of sheer willpower), but upsets are not rare.
However, the women’s game is essentially monopolised; the omnipresent Serena Williams is seemingly unbeatable, save the very occasional defeat here and there. It has almost become a joke; her matches against low-seeded opposition are often farcical to the point of lunacy.
Her match against Mandy Minella in the first round of Wimbledon, for example, was a 6-1 6-3 rout that lasted a meagre 57 minutes, the dignity of the Luxembourg player gradually evaporating into the atmosphere with every sledgehammer forehand winner from the American.
Serena even inflicts such crippling defeats upon her fellow top players; Li Na is ranked fifth, yet fell dramatically to a 6-0 6-3 execution at the US Open – an absolutely ridiculous score-line in tennis terms. Or how about the top-20 player Carla Suarez-Navarro being double-bagelled in the US Open quarter-final?
However, the events of the Minella contest were more dramatic than they perhaps appear. At the start of the second set, Minella actually managed to break the Williams serve – likely also breaking the jaws of many watching fans as they dropped to the floor out of sheer astonishment. Suddenly, the crowd was energised and entranced. Could she fight back and pull off the unthinkable?
In short, no – but it was remarkable to witness the sudden revival of the atmosphere as the crowd voiced their support. After that break, the name Mandy Minella symbolised courage, resistance and determination of the highest degree. She was an underdog of the utmost quality.
We sports fans do love an underdog. Not a victim, a hapless outfit with a feeble challenge to be obliterated and pounded into dust by quality opposition, but a challenger who may be unfavoured and less renowned, but who nonetheless possesses the ability to spring a few surprises.
When Sabine Lisicki dumped Williams out of Wimbledon this year, the stadium erupted in an explosion of jubilation. Equally, Euro 2004 will go down in history as the occasion that lowly Greece defied their betters in their own homeland to eventually lift the trophy.
On the other hand, nobody will recall Spain winning an international football tournament for the millionth time, because Spain always win, don’t they? The same applies to Serena winning at the US Open in September, or Vettel’s five Grand Prix victories in a row.
The plight of the plucky underdog is fixed in the very soul of sport, and sport is not entertaining without it. The underdog takes a lead, and we rally behind them. We pray that they will somehow prevail, even if they are utter strangers like Mandy Minella, because then the dominant opposition will not have won.
We bite our nails as the clock ticks down. Sometimes we are disappointed, but other times that glorious moment arises where the mighty falls to the plucky, and a new hero is born.
Emmott Leigh, Sports Team
exeposedev 