£3k uniforms and secret tunnels – my life as a Wimbledon line judge | Tennis | Sport

Two years ago I had the luck to be a Wimbledon line umpire, sporting my £3,000 worth of Ralph Lauren gear as I strode out onto the hallowed turf. It was my first outing as a Wimbledon linesman, and it was also my last. The next year, all of Wimbledon’s line umpires had been replaced by robots. I was quite literally one of Wimbledon’s last linesmen. And while it is true that the robots can call the lines more accurately than us mere humans, what a soulless anaemic place Centre Court has become without its nine line umpires.

There are a few reasons why Wimbledon canned 147 years of history and tradition when it dumped its linesmen, and we’ll come to them later. But one thing is for absolutely certain: the spectators would, to a man, much, much prefer to have line umpires. They’re great theatre. They are an amazing spectacle, a little light relief from gawping at the players. What the line umpires have over the robots is that they are – you wouldn’t believe it – gloriously human, complete with foibles and faults and, yes, even their dodgy line calls. I only made it into Wimbledon by the skin of my teeth. My umpiring journey had started two years earlier when, in traditional fashion, my wife Margot had thrown down the gauntlet. We’d been watching Wimbledon on the telly and I’d just happened to remark: “Wouldn’t it be great to be a Wimbledon linesman?” Margot gave the obligatory spousal reply: “You are so full of hot air!”

Then and there, I applied to the Lawn Tennis Association to become a line umpire. A few months later I was doing a one-day LTA course in St Andrews, at the end of which I was qualified to be a lowly L4 line umpire. I bought my official LTA gear – chinos and various blue LTA tops – and had my first turn on the lines at an amateur tournament in Scotstoun, Glasgow. I was not only extremely nervous but also extremely useless. Never mind whether the ball was in or out, most of the time, I had no idea where I was supposed to be standing or what line I was supposed to be looking at.

That first tournament included a small taster of the abuse that I would soon be receiving over the next year. But us line umpires, we must be human sponges: we are not allowed to make a single word of reply unless we have been asked a direct question. One young professional who was only 18 years old had a very particular adjective to describe my line calls: “Terrible!” The last time I saw him, he then deliciously followed it up by telling me: “You’ve only got one job to do!”

A few months after doing the line umpire course, I did another day-long chair umpire course. Being a chair umpire is not easy as very often you’re calling all of the lines by yourself. I was now being abused not just by children but by parents and coaches standing on the sidelines.

My favourite tournaments were the disabled matches and the Learning Disability matches. There was something so very heartening about seeing these players just giving it their best shot; they rarely complained. I must have put in well over 70 days at tennis tournaments all over Britain before I was rewarded in March 2024 with that great golden ticket of Wimbledon. As it turned out, this was the last time lines umpires would ever be seen at The Championships.

So many fascinating behind-the-scenes places to explore on my first day, from the vast network of tunnels that stretch from Court 3 to Number One court and down to Aorangi, as well as the umpires’ subterranean Buttery with its sun-trap patio, and of course the grand clubhouse which, strictly speaking, was off-limits to us humble linesmen.

Being a Wimbledon linesman is rather different from being a line umpire at the other UK tournaments. For a start, you’re paid a lot more – around £150-a-day for being on court, plus £100 in daily expenses. And though there is no rule-book as such, there is a simply vast list of unwritten rules. These are known as “The Wimbledon Way”. So: when at ease on court, sitting on your chair, your feet must be square on the ground, knees at 90 degrees, hands resting lightly on your thighs.

One time, in between matches, I was left sitting in the full sun for nearly 20 minutes. I started squirming a bit, stretching my legs out, scratching my chest, flexing my arms; I might even have had the temerity to yawn! As soon as I was off-court, I was given a severe lecture from one of the Off-Court Technical Advisers, who prowl the grounds and advise line umpires on the finer aspects of The Wimbledon Way. If a linesman doesn’t suck it up with good grace, they will be consigned to the outer courts for the rest of the tournament.

As a rookie umpire, I never got anywhere near Centre Court, but I was allowed one hot day on Court 18, a semi-show court with around 500 spectators. It was unutterably thrilling: the heat, this baying mob of spectators, and a young American player, Ben Shelton.

I remember looking down the centre service line while Ben tuned in 135mph serves right at my head. It almost felt like Russian roulette, because at least one in eight serves was going to be coming down the line straight at me. I had a few serves skim off my arm or my shoulder, but one friend got hit smack between the eyes. There was a lot of blood and he was out of the tournament for three days with concussion.

But the main fun for a line umpire, of course, isn’t on the courts: it’s larking around with all the other umpires in the Buttery, or, later on, at the umpires’ pub of choice, The Rushmere. (Umpires are expressly forbidden from drinking alcohol at Wimbledon or in uniform.) A few months after Wimbledon ended, the line umpires received a terse note informing us that our services were no longer required. Instead of linesmen, as there had been for 147 years, Wimbledon would make do with “Electronic Line Calling Live”.

Along with the robots, there would also be 80 match assistants, there to open cans of balls and escort players to toilets. Compared to being a line umpire, it was one hell of a comedown. The Wimbledon authorities never really divulged why they dumped the line umpires, but I believe there were two main reasons: the lines would be called more accurately and it was also what the players wanted.

Well, personally speaking, I think Wimbledon made a spectacularly bad call. In fact, to echo my favourite 18-year-old, I would say that it was “Terrible!” Firstly, as regards the accuracy of the calls, I would merely ask: Who the hell cares? Line umpires are actually pretty good compared to the robots, and, if it comes to it, the players can always appeal. These appeals all add to the show. At cricket matches, the crowds just love them.

Secondly: losing 147 years of tradition because it’s “what the players want”? Could we care less about the views of these pampered athletes? Very few of today’s players are even British. They couldn’t give a fig for Wimbledon’s extraordinary history. But as for the spectators: they loved the line umpires with their slightly camp uniforms, and their squawked calls, not to mention the way they ducked out of the way of head-height balls. The linesmen all greatly added to the general merriment of Wimbledon – and no-one could ever, ever say that of a robot.