There can be no question that on the tennis court Lewis Macleod is a class act, but can the same be said of him off the court?
Class is a tricky subject and can mean different things nowadays. It used to refer to social status, refinement and breeding, but that has got muddied in the modern age. For me - the ultimate class act is James Bond - he looks the part, certainly acts the part, and can fit into any social situation with ease.
That's not Lewis. His social background is different coming from the East End of Glasgow, and having dedicated much of his life to tennis, he lacks refinement elsewhere. He has not been exposed to so much of life, held in a bubble that is his sport. He yearns to have the sort of class of James Bond, but knows he falls way short of the mark. And this is all the more difficult for him as he now lives in a world where the 'beautiful people' shine. He has the wealth and fame, but lacks the foundation, and this can prove awkward in certain situations.
I experienced similar strains in my life, coming from a working class background, a mining community where 'class' was frowned upon. Moving from that to the big cities, first Edinburgh then London where I worked in The City - the finance sector, dealing with people from diverse backgrounds, some very sophisticated, was a strain at times. I had to learn and adapt quickly. Lewis is doing the same, but has other things to worry about. It can't be easy being a class act when all the world is watching and many are hoping you fall flat on your face.
Here's a snippet that illustrates his difficulty...
“Any other plans?” asked Marie.
Scott shrugged his shoulders. “Play some more golf. Write a book maybe: the life story... everyone does it. Perhaps you know a good ghost writer - it’s not my thing really.”
Marie smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, but you should do it... very therapeutic. It would give you a chance to evaluate your life, and work out what you want to do with it now.”
“Well I’ve got an idea!” Lewis chipped in. “I could seriously do with some help at the French Open. As you speak the language - if nothing else, you could help me prepare my first round loser’s speech. Paris has got fabulous restaurants, and the best wine in the world, or so I’m assured. There are plenty of galleries to go and see as well. The girls could show us around. It might be fun. Chantal and I are going to enter the doubles - now that would be worth coming to see, do you not think?”
Lewis regretted it immediately, realising how silly he sounded. He was acting like a child in the company of sophisticated adults, and Scott’s silence for an answer did nothing to relieve his anguish. Thankfully Marie came to the rescue.
“Don’t worry, Lewis – if Scott’s not available, I’ll help you with your speech. And perhaps it would be better if I played in the doubles with you. Chantal will be too busy winning the singles. It will be fun, and when we get knocked out, I will show you Paris... my Paris. We will go to the galleries and you can learn about art. We will dine at the best restaurants which are not the most expensive. And I will teach you the difference between Burgundy and Claret. Then when we come to England, you can show me London, and buy me fish and chips.”
“You need to eat them out of a paper bag. It’s not very stylish, but they don’t taste the same otherwise. It does sound like fun... Thank you.” And he meant that from the bottom of his
heart.
Class is a tricky subject and can mean different things nowadays. It used to refer to social status, refinement and breeding, but that has got muddied in the modern age. For me - the ultimate class act is James Bond - he looks the part, certainly acts the part, and can fit into any social situation with ease.
That's not Lewis. His social background is different coming from the East End of Glasgow, and having dedicated much of his life to tennis, he lacks refinement elsewhere. He has not been exposed to so much of life, held in a bubble that is his sport. He yearns to have the sort of class of James Bond, but knows he falls way short of the mark. And this is all the more difficult for him as he now lives in a world where the 'beautiful people' shine. He has the wealth and fame, but lacks the foundation, and this can prove awkward in certain situations.
I experienced similar strains in my life, coming from a working class background, a mining community where 'class' was frowned upon. Moving from that to the big cities, first Edinburgh then London where I worked in The City - the finance sector, dealing with people from diverse backgrounds, some very sophisticated, was a strain at times. I had to learn and adapt quickly. Lewis is doing the same, but has other things to worry about. It can't be easy being a class act when all the world is watching and many are hoping you fall flat on your face.
Here's a snippet that illustrates his difficulty...
“Any other plans?” asked Marie.
Scott shrugged his shoulders. “Play some more golf. Write a book maybe: the life story... everyone does it. Perhaps you know a good ghost writer - it’s not my thing really.”
Marie smiled and shook her head. “I’m afraid not, but you should do it... very therapeutic. It would give you a chance to evaluate your life, and work out what you want to do with it now.”
“Well I’ve got an idea!” Lewis chipped in. “I could seriously do with some help at the French Open. As you speak the language - if nothing else, you could help me prepare my first round loser’s speech. Paris has got fabulous restaurants, and the best wine in the world, or so I’m assured. There are plenty of galleries to go and see as well. The girls could show us around. It might be fun. Chantal and I are going to enter the doubles - now that would be worth coming to see, do you not think?”
Lewis regretted it immediately, realising how silly he sounded. He was acting like a child in the company of sophisticated adults, and Scott’s silence for an answer did nothing to relieve his anguish. Thankfully Marie came to the rescue.
“Don’t worry, Lewis – if Scott’s not available, I’ll help you with your speech. And perhaps it would be better if I played in the doubles with you. Chantal will be too busy winning the singles. It will be fun, and when we get knocked out, I will show you Paris... my Paris. We will go to the galleries and you can learn about art. We will dine at the best restaurants which are not the most expensive. And I will teach you the difference between Burgundy and Claret. Then when we come to England, you can show me London, and buy me fish and chips.”
“You need to eat them out of a paper bag. It’s not very stylish, but they don’t taste the same otherwise. It does sound like fun... Thank you.” And he meant that from the bottom of his
heart.