Elitist Wimbledon and Royal Ascot have no class

By Eurosport | Desmond Kane
http://uk.eurosport.yahoo.com

It was of minimal surprise to learn that Royal Ascot apparently asked Channel 4 to refer to 'Ladies' Day' as Gold Cup day at the gee-gees last week. One glance at some of the figures making their way to this snotty, overpriced gathering of largely revolting characters explained the reasons behind initial suspicions.

Race organisers apparently did not want their brand to be tarnished by the moniker of 'Ladies' Day', the one at Aintree in Liverpool looks rougher than some of the mares running in the races; but the horse bolted the stable, so to speak, on that one several years ago.

For a preserve of the traditional, middle-class rich in the United Kingdom, Royal Ascot week and Wimbledon fortnight are two events that continue to stagger this onlooker for their obvious vulgarity, tastelessness and tackiness.

Some of the "beautiful people" washing up at these prized events are enough to make one want to vomit on the spot.

And that is before the public service BBC bafflingly starts flicking to images of the "privileged" royal family wannabe Pippa Middleton, and her entourage, five minutes into Roger Federer's match on Centre Court.

Excuse me for being slightly old fashioned, I always thought class should be based on the general conduct of an individual - dignity, good manners, a sense of decorum and how one carries themselves. Not where they come from.

Or how much of the folding stuff they are walking around with in the hip pockets of their breakfast suits.

The old-school tie brigade in this country is a steaming pile of horse manure, but there remains a weird obsession with social class in the United Kingdom that is never better outed than when peering into the fandom of such events.

The one thing certain about wealth is nobody is taking it with them when they are lowered into the ground. There is nothing permanent about being royal or cash-rich. It will be you, and you alone in the end.

Horse Racing, the sport of kings, is perhaps a better example of the rat race, a wider malaise of the haves and have mores that has always been a depressing reality of British society.

Trying to board a train bound for Ascot in and around London last week was comparable to being shoehorned into a cattle car with a very different type of livestock, namely the usual new money laying waste to public transport.

Snobs trying to be toffs mixing freely is a pretty wretched sight. Rugby Union fans travelling to Twickenham are better behaved on trains than the horse racing lot. They are certainly more inclined to take their litter with them. PDC darts fans possess more common sense.

It would have been preferable to ride a unicycle to avoid the train ride as blokes dressed up in top hats and women wearing ill-fitting, clinging clothes were all the rage in ridiculous hats and tramp stamps. Mutton dressed as mutton sounds about correct.

Some were quaffing champers, but there was hardly a convivial atmosphere surrounding these characters. Far from it. It was all very contrived.

Some seemed about as content as a jockey whose horse pulled up on the cusp of winning the Gold Cup.

The Daily Telegraph last week offered a guide to what one should and should not wear at Royal Ascot. Who needs to wear a shirt and tie to carry off a veneer of respectability?

A couple of years ago, pictures were published showing grown men brawling with Laurent Perrier Rose champagne bottles at Royal Ascot.

"Sometimes the grandstands seem over-run by tattoos and bare flesh. It’s disrespectful – not just to the Queen..but to the horses," said the horse racing commentator Sir Peter O’Sullevan.

When they return worse for wear after a day on the sauce, the trains resemble some sort of slag heap as rubbish is tossed and bottles are discarded without any sense of sense of collective responsibility. London looked more scenic after the Blitz.

Wimbers comes into view a few days later, and seems to bring with it a further outburst of pretentious figures with its overpriced Pimms, strawberries and cream, and a willingness to tuck in with the silver spoons.

Some of the "ordinary folk" camp all night to catch a glimpse of the tennis players and rub shoulders with the privileged, who just waltz into Centre Court.

A night in the local police cells sounds more appealing than trying to leapfrog another member of Joe Public to spend time with the idle rich.

There's nowt so **** as folk.

Horse Racing and tennis remain fine sports, but the problem is not the sport. It is the calibre of characters they tend to attract.

There is no class about Royal Ascot or Wimbledon. They just exist to usher in new money.

They are simply sports events that lend themselves well to highlighting the worse excesses of a class-ridden society.

Yet there is so much poverty in what it all stands for.