There was a time, when the Wimbledon trophy passed only through British hands, when it was possible to win this tournament in pants. There was even a time when the tie did not prevent anything. It must be said that in those remote times tennis was a sport where you did not sweat.
Go, one or two drops, but hardly more, in any case nothing compared to what we see nowadays, where the sweatband, the liters of sweat and the regular passage of the towel are the attributes of an almost fetishistic display of effort and endurance – and often accompanied by screams that are sometimes alarmingly violent. I’m certainly not the only viewer to have to mute the sound to spare myself the incessant hubbub of invective from the baseline.
It has not always been so. Long before these days of constant grumbling, there was a time when women served with spoons, dressed as dowagers in the series Downton Abbey, while men, like Fred Perry, three-time Wimbledon winner in the 1930s, sometimes wore a little jumper during matches. It was also the golden age of sporting Britain – amazing, isn’t it?
Cricket is also a sweatless sport. Even today, unless you throw more throws over an extended period of time, no one sweats. In any case not too much, unless it is very hot, which is rarely the case in our latitudes. This principle of least effort is favored by the rules of the game itself, since the pitchers are limited to series of six balls, after which they are free to go laze on the outfield to think about what they will put on their scones.
All this is very logical after all: the chic and cozy atmosphere of traditional tea time in the middle of a match does not tolerate locker room odors. I’m sure I could practice throwing to death without exciting a single sweat gland – and I’m no exception. This is partly explained by the bad English weather, which is almost 100% reliable. Are there other parts of the world where those who practice a “summer” sport can afford to wear a short-sleeved sweater, the woolen equivalent of the weight of a small dog?
One thing is certain: if you find yourself out of breath while playing cricket, or if you break into a sweat on a golf course, your body is trying to tell you something that has nothing to do with your batting stats. Make an appointment with your doctor without delay.
On the podium of British sporting sinecures, first place goes to croquet – it’s a bit like the mundane side of sadomasochism as it is experienced in the chic countryside of Greater London: if the stated objective is to pass a ball in wood through hoops, the only real ambition is the perfect humiliation of the adversary. In croquet, as in golf, which it resembles in more ways than one respect, any possible sweating phenomenon can only be due to the psychological tension induced by the game – and certainly not to the physical exercise imposed by the manipulation of mallet or 7 iron.
Is it any wonder, then, that England so often tops the world croquet charts? And that the Scots and Welsh are never far behind?
It must be said that food and drink occupy a place of choice in the most typically English sports. What in golf we call the 19e hole (the bar) is at least as dear to the hearts of regulars as the previous 18. This is also another common point between golf and croquet, let me share this secret with you, it stays between us: it is possible to play croquet safely, and even with talent, while sipping a large refreshing glass of Pimm’s or a gin and tonic.
Like other major non-sweating sports, there are also no requirements in terms of physical condition or age: I want proof of this from my father, who celebrated his 70th birthday by inflicting a scathing correction on his opponents , at the end of a marathon of croquet very watered and disputed in the snow.
Which brings us to billiards, another sedentary sport if ever there was one, to the point that until recently it was compulsory, at the highest level, to drink and smoke while practicing it. Much like darts, where a body mass index below 30 is highly suspect, if you play billiards and can climb two flights of stairs without feeling tingling in your left arm, you’ve taken your physical preparation and your lifestyle far too seriously. Billiards and darts are the last bastions of sweatless sport at its purest.
It is not for nothing that these very particular fields of human adventure have only ever briefly risen to the rank of Olympic discipline, when the International Olympic Committee has not purely and simply ignored them.
Cricket and croquet can boast of only one appearance, at the 1900 Games (with British and French victories, respectively), while golf found its place there in 1900 and 1904, only to fade into oblivion until in 2016. Darts today would have a good chance of earning Olympic status.
In the list of great non-sweating sports, we have not yet touched on shooting, an activity next to which origami can pass for an endurance sport. The shooting, not content with not causing the slightest acceleration of the pulse, is compatible with the wearing of a tie, the consumption of tobacco (where it is still permitted) and morbid obesity. In this, shooting is a very, very great sweatless sport, and its survival from the modern Olympic program is no doubt a precious victory for lazy good sense. May this victory continue.
But why on earth are the British so well versed in sports that require so little physical exercise? Would they have it in their blood? In any case, this illustrates a facet of our mentality which leads us to take a dim view of any preparation or excessive training before a competition, when we do not see it as a form of venial cheating. We have to get the victory, that goes without saying, but God forbid we try too hard to achieve it. Natural talent is what the Englishman admires above all.
Anyway, the next time the village cricket team invites you to bats, or the pastor invites you to a game of croquet, do what you have to do, but don’t push yourself too hard either. And don’t forget your sweater.
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