No Spongebob for Maria as Dimbo Timbo hits dead end

TV View: When Hazel Irvine completed her ascent of Henman Hill on Wednesday afternoon there was no need to plant a Union Jack on the summit: there were already a couple of hundred of them there, painted on the faces of Tim's Red, White and Blue Army.

In the middle of the throng was Wilma, resplendent in her Union Jack baseball cap, who, by now, had a dejected look and was barely able to focus her moist eyes on the big screen that was beaming Mario Ancic's obliteration of Henman live from Centre Court.

"What advice would you give Tim?" asked Hazel, after Ancic had gone two sets up.

"Just do a few more aces," said Wilma, which is very probably what she does when she's under the cosh against Mavis down at the local club.

If only Henman had realised it was that easy. Perhaps he'd consider hiring Wilma as a coach now, although Boris Becker's post-match observation that Ancic "had 30 more horses powers in ze bag" - one that left John Lloyd, sitting beside him, exchanging a quizzical look with the viewers at home - means Wilma might have her work cut out.

Gary Richardson, meanwhile, collected a few tennis reporters and asked them what the headlines would be in the next day's papers.

"Major disappointment for Henman, but Ancic was absolutely extraordinary - a 20-year-old to play like that!" said Neil Harman of the London Times. "A bitter disappointment for Tim, but we don't want to get too carried away."

"The dream is over," said Nigel Clarke of the Daily Express.

That's the advantage broadsheets have over tabloids: there's room for a headline that doubles as a match report.

But, predictably enough, some papers were less kind on Henman. The Sun opted for "Timbo's a real Dimbo" as their headline, described him as "gutless" and accused him of carrying the hopes of the nation "with all the strength of a knock-kneed gnat".

And then, just for good measure, they sent a man dressed as a tiger to Henman's home to present him with a gift of a "£19.99 swingball tennis trainer suitable for five years up".

Good Lord.

Richardson went looking for the man from the Sun the next day to ask him to explain himself, but he was unwilling to go public, perhaps afraid that he'd bump in to a none-too-happy, machete-wielding Wilma.

By Saturday, BBC commentator David Mercer had renamed Henman's Hill Maria's Mount after Sharapova had awesomely dazzled her way to her first Wimbledon title. Tracey Austin had predicted as much; John McEnroe hadn't. He reckoned she was too young yet to get the better of Serena Williams, but after a handful of games he conceded that "jeez, this is the whole package already".

The Russian's only failure, as it proved, was to get through to her mother on her mobile phone. Do we sense a contract with a mobile-phone company in the air, with the first telly ad featuring Sharapova successfully getting through to her ma from the Centre Court? We do.

Later that night John Inverdale asked John Lloyd if "this is the template now" for producing a Wimbledon champion, separating a seven-year-old child from her mother for two years, shipping her to a tennis factory in a strange country where she doesn't speak the language and depriving her of a daily dose of Spongebob Squarepants so that she focuses on her game.

"I fear it is," said Lloyd.

Lloyd, then, felt there was something almost sad about Sharapova's success, even if her talent is positively wondrous: Yuri Sharapov's strategy has paid off, he feels vindicated, so the tennis factories will be crammed like never before with pre-teens who really should be at home watching Spongebob Squarepants and roller-skating over the next-door neighbour's cat. You know, normal stuff.

But Sharapova has arrived and, despite the ruthlessness of her journey, she still has the look of a girl who just takes joy out of playing tennis, so that's some consolation.

"She moves like she don't care, smooth as silk, cool as air," as the soundtrack, Maria, chosen by the BBC to conclude their coverage on Saturday, fittingly put it.

Not that everyone was watching the tennis.

"On what court are the finals at Wimbledon played?" we heard a quizmaster ask a contestant on ITV on Saturday evening.

"Eh . . ." came the reply.

"The 'something' court," came the hint.

"Earls?" said the contestant.

"No, no - think of another word for the 'middle'. The dead 'something'?"

"End?"

And with that the quizmaster gave up.