What the f***, Andy?

An article in The Guardian caught my eye this morning; a very un-Guardian-like article. Apparently, during his Wimbledon defeat against Dimitrov yesterday, Andy was heard to mutter several expletives.

During the second set, he shouted, “Shut the f*** up!” And towards the end of the match, he said, “Five minutes before the f***ing match!”

Both of these intrigue me. Deeply. And darkly. And they also intrigue The Guardian, who, in an almost Daily Mail-esque moment comment slyly, “It was not immediately clear if this was a reference to some disagreement he had with his new coach, Amélie Mauresmo, or his team – or something else entirely.” Du du duuuuuuuuuuuuuuh!

Something else entirely, eh? What happened? Go on, Andy. Tell us. Spill forth in your usual jocular loquacious manner and tell us what happened five minutes before the match.

Did Kim dump you? Boooooooring.

Did she decide to wear the pink dress and accessorise with a white bag and strappy sandals, instead of the diamante jumpsuit you’d laid out for her?

Or perhaps, you were anally probed by aliens in a last ditch attempt to see if you were really human?

Ooooh. Ooooh. I know. They only had Robinson’s Fruit and Barley squash in the locker room, and not your favourite Summer Fruits? I’m right, aren’t I? That would tick me off too, Andy. Mr T always drinks the Summer Fruits first, even though he knows I don’t like the Orange and Pineapple one as much. It’s a hard burden to shoulder. I feel you.

Did you discover that white is not the new black, as you were led to believe, and were suddenly overcome with shame at your fashion faux pas?

Did a rabid baboon throw its faeces at you while dancing an Irish jig dressed in your lucky pants?

WHAT HAPPENED, ANDY???!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(Oh, and also, who were you telling to “shut the f*** up?” The fairies in your head? Was Kim communicating telepathically again? Can you talk to ghosts? Don’t tell me it’s something boring like you were talking to yourself; don’t do that to me, Andy.)



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