Forty Pounds, One Queue, and a Lesson in Fandom
Wimbledon’s magic isn’t just on the courts. It starts in the grass before sunrise.
I’m back after a short break. I am keeping everyone lost and affected by the Central Texas floods in my thoughts. This area has become home for me over the last 9 years. To donate, here are links for Kerr County support and Travis County support.
I’ve always believed that to understand fandom, you need to experience fandom.
Not in the abstract, not through surveys or dashboards, but in the way fans actually live it.
Sometimes that means standing for hours in a concourse, or dealing with the hustle to the metro station to catch the first train home. It’s nice getting picked up at the gate by a corporate car, or sitting in an air conditioned suite for a baseball game - but in those moments, it’s easy to forget why we are all actually there - the athletes, then the fans.
For me, just over two weeks ago, it means taking an Uber at 2:30 a.m., getting briefly locked inside my hotel because it’s so early, and ending up in Wimbledon Park with thousands of strangers, trading sleep and comfort for the chance to be part of something bigger.
You know the moment is special and a wild experience when your friend checks in at 3:30 a.m. after providing paragraphs of advice prior to starting the experience.
Friend:
“Did you bring a trash bag or pillow?”
Me:
“Hotel towel and my bag. Using that as a pillow.”
Friend:
“Strong move.”
At the Wimbledon Queue, even your packing list feels like strategy.
The Unsaid Rules of the Queue
The crazy thing about the Queue is how much order exists in something that looks chaotic from the outside. Everyone keeps their place, and no one jockeys for position. There are unspoken rules that don’t need to be explained because everyone seems to know them instinctively. As an American, I was consistently afraid I’d accidentally break one. People mark their spots with chairs or bags and wander off for coffee, trusting no one will move them. No one does.
When you work in sports, but also experience fandom, you also jot down notes.
At 3:27, security escorted someone out who was yelling by the bathrooms. A woman walking past muttered, “There’s always an idiot,” as if it were part of the script.
By 4 a.m., the stillness broke when even more people started rolling through into their lines.
At 4:44, I watched people dressed head-to-toe in Wimbledon gear using backpacks as pillows, some already debating who they’d see that day.
At 5:15, the coffee line formed, stretching across the park like a lifeline.
By 5:24, as I stood in line looking at the ‘Bowls Lessons” ad, I thought maybe I should learn what that is - a fair question at that hour.
At 5:34, I watched staff miraculously keep track of hundreds of coffee orders, still wondering how.
By 6:30, I gave in to the inevitable nap, head tilted awkwardly against my bag.
At 7:08, the energy shifted. We were told to get ready to move. The queue feels like a living thing; it breathes, it stops, and then it surges forward.
Crowd-Sourced Patience
The Queue isn’t just physical. It’s also digital. X account ViewFromTheQ has turned waiting into a shared spectator sport, with real-time updates on ticket cutoffs, snack options, and where the line actually sits. Everyone around me quietly scrolled for intel, trading updates like stock tips. I became friends with my Queue neighbors, who hailed from the Channel Islands, over my ability to know the numbers at each hour.
Thousands of strangers were trying to understand a system that can’t really be gamed, but the shared hope of getting through made it feel like we were all in it together. Then, you wait.
The Ticket Moment
The walk to the ticketing area is quiet, almost reverent. People count their place in line, eyeing how close they are to the cut-off for court tickets.
At 8:48, I was 17 people away.
By 9:46, I had my grounds pass in hand, and the anticipation changed. It was no longer about waiting. It was about watching.
A Day on the Grounds
Wimbledon is built on contrasts. After hours of stillness, the grounds feel alive and fast.
At 10 a.m., I found myself back in another line, this time for security, watching a man cut ahead with the confidence of someone who’s clearly done this before. People noticed, but no one said a word. This was the first and only time I saw someone skip the line the entire day.
By 11, I was watching Tommy Paul at No. 3 Court.
At 12:30, I met up with a friend who has been working at Wimbledon for a few years.
By 1:30, Chris Eubanks had a pocket of fans completely locked in for a 5 set thriller (unfortunately ending in a loss).
It already felt like a full day. I had paid £30 for the grounds pass and was considering calling it by late afternoon after strawberries & cream and a Pimm’s Cup.
The Resale Surprise
One of the best-kept secrets at Wimbledon is the resale queue. Once you’re inside, you can register for a chance to buy a returned Centre Court or No. 1 Court ticket. The demand is high, and I didn’t think I had a chance. I picked No. 1 Court instead of Centre Court, figuring the odds were better.
By 4:30, I was hot, dehydrated, and ready to leave.
Then my phone buzzed.
The app notified me I had been selected to buy a resale ticket. For £10, I claimed a seat on No. 1 Court, about 10 rows back, and got to watch Emma Navarro play followed by Jack Draper. By the time I left around 7 p.m., sunburned and tired, I realized the whole day—queue included—had cost £40. The rest went to the merch store, which should surprise no one.
Experiencing Fandom to Understand It
The tennis was the headline, but the queue was the story. It was the shared laughs at 5 a.m., the quiet nods when it was nearly time to leave, and the collective gasp when we missed the No. 2 court seats by 17 people. Those moments are why people come back year after year.
To understand fandom, you have to feel it yourself. You have to wake up before sunrise, stake out your spot in the grass, crowd-source updates from strangers, and trust that a thousand people around you will play by the rules even when no one is watching. You can even carry your own champagne through the gates because that’s part of the tradition.
Fandom isn’t built on convenience. It’s built on choice, on the willingness to show up and stay.
Would I do it again? Absolutely. Next time, I might pack more water and a better pillow - and maybe bring a friend for the people watching.
As always, thank you for reading.
A truly one-of-a-kind experience. I did the queue on Friday, July 4. Sadly by showing up at 530am only got number eight thousand-something and got my grounds pass at 1:30pm with no hope of a resale ticket. Still, worth every moment of awkward grass sleeping under an umbrella to block the sun. My kids (who were not there) insist we are camping out in a future year. My one tip: the waffle truck was a really long but worthwhile wait.