Now That Henman's Unexpectedly Won, Will I Have to Hate Him Again?

Yesterday, for the first time, I embraced the Middle Englander that lurks inside me. Since the eruption of Henmania in 1996, I have been one of the many repulsed by the outpouring of Home Counties love for the least charismatic sporting hero these islands have ever produced. I have willed Tim Henman to get crushed into the ground by faster, stronger opponents, and I have willed it to happen most resoundingly at Wimbledon every year.

Then, yesterday morning, reading about his first-round match against Carlos Moyá, the final set of which was tied at 5-5 overnight, I realized that I wanted Henman to win.

So what had changed? His chances of doing well, really. As long as Henman was in with an outside chance of winning Wimbledon, he was a living symbol of so many of the things that make me uncomfortable about Britain. Or, more specifically, England. Or, even more specifically, the version of England that the editors of the Daily Mail inhabit. He appeared to be some sort of post-colonial hangover, the kind of man who would take tea on the lawn before vanquishing foreigners armed with nothing more than a tennis racket. And, for some reason, that whipped the kind of people who believe in the version of England that the editors of the Daily Mail inhabit into a frenzy. One could not like Henman and believe in progressive politics. It was as simple as that.

But once he was transformed from possible winner into probable loser he crossed some psychological line in my head. Now, like Leeds United, the British film industry and Peter Bottomley MP, he is something I feel vague affection for without ever thinking he matters. If he doesn't matter, there's no point despising him. And if there's no point despising him, then I may as well cheer him on. After all, he's one of ours, isn't he? God forbid his eventual 13-11 victory yesterday afternoon heralds some sort of winning streak. I can't want someone to do well if they're actually going to heed my wishes, now can I?