Great and few are the broadcasters who so bestride the world of sport that their names are deemed fit to ring out from the titles of their programmes. One thinks automatically of David Coleman in this context. Of Jimmy Hill, too. And, of course, let’s not forget Steve McManaman, whose Macca’s Monday Night football round-up was such a must-see on Setanta before the British arm of the company went bust.
And now, to that brief but distinguished list, we can add the name of Mats Wilander, who is starring every night in Game, Set and Mats, a handy tennis briefing that Eurosport is deploying to put some extra top spin on its coverage of the Australian Open from Melbourne.
Nifty title for a show, no? But can we straightaway put a stop to the entirely substance-free rumour that the former world No 1 has been handed this prominence only because his name fits — or, in other words, that the title came first and the job offer only second. We know that can’t be the case because, at the very least, the multiple grand-slam title-winning Swede would have faced a bit of competition from Monica Seles. (“Game, Seles and Match” would just about work.) Otherwise, it’s true, one can arrive at a serviceable title in this style only by extreme contortion. For example: “John Lloyd’s By Three Games To One In The Third Set And By Two Sets To Love”. At which point, for me, the snappiness rather goes out of it.
That said, if the Dutch legend was available and up for it, there would be eternal scope for a daily wrap-up show: “They Think It’s Betty Stove — It Is Now.”
Anyway, the point is, Mats is unarguably there on broadcasting merit first and foremost, boasting a tidy line in post-match analysis and a way with a handheld microphone that few right-handed Swedish players of his generation can match. (And not just any old handheld microphone, either. The one Mats wields is, for some obscure reason, in this age of ever more convenient electronics, the size of a baby’s head — a meaty ask, stamina-wise, over the programme’s half-hour duration.) Wilander hosts Game, Set and Mats from an apparently open-topped and open-backed (and possibly even open-sided) booth, many feet above sea level and overlooking the outside of the Rod Laver Arena. (We know it’s the Rod Laver Arena because huge, green, neon letters say, “Rod Laver Arena”, removing most of the doubt.) In front of him is a white table so achingly modern that it appears to be a partly melted surfboard and next to him is Annabel Croft, who appears only to be Annabel Croft.
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Now, here we have to confess that Game, Set and Mats takes something of a Macca’s Monday Night turn, in that, if we’re going to be pedantic about it, it’s the former British women’s No 1 who technically hosts the show, doing all the “hello”-ing, “goodbye”-ing and “after the break”-ing. Wilander’s contributions are gained by Croft lobbing him a few volley-tempting questions about how well Roger Federer seems to be going at the moment. (Angus Scott provided much the same service for Macca.) Realistically, then, it’s “Game, Set and Croft”. But, as discussed, that wouldn’t work as well.
Let’s not quibble, though. The main problem that Eurosport has is its relative facelessness. Its seamless (and valuable) feed of live images tends to be remarked upon from remote studios by a long chain of unseen blokes, many of them called Chris. It’s a fine service the channel provides, but it can get a bit cold and ghostly in there sometimes, so this is a welcome initiative.
However, apparently not entirely confident that the sight of a former Swedish professional talking about tennis into a microphone the size of a baby’s head is interesting enough to engage the viewer in the long term, the producers occasionally tip the camera to a funny angle. Or sometimes they shoot Mats through some of the plastic scenery, making him look like a ship in a bottle or, more specifically, a retired tennis player in a bottle. Personally, I think they could have more faith in the power of Mats, but if it brings the MTV generation on board, who am I to complain?
In another stunning development in Celebrity Big Brother, Vinnie Jones has just shouted: “Look! There’s a blue one on me nuts!” And, indeed, there was. The tit flew away before returning to the feeder again moments later, shortly after Jones, watching eagerly from the window, had unhesitatingly identified “a pied wagtail”.
Who would have dared speculate on the number of little dwelled-upon sides of himself that the former Wimbledon trouble-magnet would reveal under the conditions of a made-for-television incarceration? Chef, domestic god, dispenser of hard-earned wisdom from the university of life and now informed bird-spotter.
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Tune in soon, before it all goes wrong and he attacks someone with a fridge door, while shouting: “You mug”, over and over again.