​This weekend, Linda Nosková will go up against Karolína Muchová, while Jannik Sinner faces Alexander Zverev in the long-awaited Wimbledon finals. The whole world will be watching.
Wimbledon endures not simply because it is the most prestigious tournament, but because it feels like something that belongs to everyone—from royalty to everyday fans. The groundskeepers care for the grounds as if it were their own family, and generation after generation of fans inherit that sense of belonging as well.
Every spring, long before a single ball is struck, the groundskeepers at the All England Lawn Tennis Club begin their most important work of the year. In May 2023, I was invited to spend time with the staff as they prepared for Wimbledon, and I hopped on the first available flight, arriving at the club just outside London in a morning fog that felt almost magical. For a lifelong tennis player and fan, it felt like a pilgrimage. I bent down to touch the grass, hoping that a shard of green might rub off on my palm and into a vial to keep as a memento. Will Brierley, the Lead Groundsperson at the club, showed me the meticulous routine—how they mow, trim, massage, roll, and paint some of the world’s most famous tennis courts.
Sitting in the clubhouse, a well-worn break room filled with whiteboards marking the day’s assignments, black-and-white photos of past groundskeepers, and books ranging from James Patterson thrillers to a Scrabble dictionary, I was struck by the dynamic among the groundskeepers and the shared language that binds them. It isn’t merely a job; it’s a form of family that gathers here before the Grand Slam begins. The groundskeepers, who aren’t necessarily fans of tennis in a traditional sense, talk about each court as if it were a sibling or cousin—some demanding and temperamental, others easy to maintain. Some, they joke, they can tend with their eyes closed. They are worn out by the time the tournament commences, especially if the weather has been uncooperative. Yet they know these courts as family.
When the players arrive, something similar happens in the stands. Wimbledon remains the one Grand Slam that consistently draws not only fans but families—either by blood or by choice. Unlike many other major sporting events, Wimbledon still allows fans to queue for the chance to buy same-day show-court seats at face value, or to enter the grounds for as little as £33. This creates an atmosphere in which families can attend and celebrate together, building a sense of community.
Last year, even with a media pass in hand, I spent a morning in the queue to experience that camaraderie up close. I observed groups of people in line playing board games, card games, or kicking a ball around, sharing in the communal anticipation as they waited, some with champagne on a sunlit morning. The crowd spoke a range of languages—English, German, French, Japanese—but all shared the same palpable excitement. I witnessed multi-generational groups and clusters of friends, including 60-something women in hand-embroidered hats who have been queuing together for decades. The experience of queuing felt like a living, breathing extension of Wimbledon’s enduring charm: a celebration that invites everyone in, a place where tradition and inclusion walk hand in hand, and where the anticipation of the matches is matched only by the sense of belonging that surrounds them.