Sorry, Rishi, but your questions would kill even Charli xcx’s vibe

You’d almost rather lose, wouldn’t you? At least then you get to pack away your racquet, bin what’s left of your banana, sling your bag over your shoulder and make a tired but graceful walk to the exit with the applause of the All England Club’s never-less-than-sympathetic crowd ringing around you.

No such luck if you win, though. Nothing so dignified. True, you’ve just earned a place in the next round, and that’s probably a plus. But against the probable ranking enhancement and the many thousands of pounds of additional prize money eventually coming your way must be weighed the prospect of what you now face, right this second: the full-body cringe which is the on-court post-match Wimbledon interview. Frankly, it’s inhumane. You’ve just played three, four, maybe five sets of tennis in the heat-trap of a show court, involving concentrated physical and mental exertion at ­levels that most of us struggle even to imagine, and standing between you and the shower is Rishi Persad. “How pleased are you with your ­performance today?”

And if it isn’t actually cruel, it’s at the very minimum a total ­drama killer – instant suction for the delicious smoke that hangs in the air after sporting combat.

This is the way the tennis ends: not with a bang but a simper. Nothing whatsoever against Rishi, by the way, who seems lovely.

Nothing against any of the on-court microphone jockeys who step out at these moments in the Grand Slams – consummate professionals all of them, and just doing their job. The problem is the job.

“You did a lot of things well. Is that how it felt out there?” And people will tell you it’s the sorbet-soft nature of the interrogation that’s at fault. “A line judge could have written those ­questions,” they’ll say. ‘“One of the new AI ones.”

Well, maybe. An AI line judge could certainly write most of the answers. “Just super happy that I got the win today and, yeah, just really glad to be through to the next round.” But the questions should be bland. You’re talking to a knackered sportsperson who has just thrown themself all over the place for four and a half hours in 34C. What kind of sociopath would decide to be probing at such a time?

“Carlos, there’s been a lot in the news recently about Iran’s nuclear development programme, and rightly so. How do YOU think current tensions in the Gulf can best be resolved?”

In fact, in the circumstances, anything more taxing than a gently cushioned lob would be an insult to the player and to tennis.

“Novak, can I just raise with you something you said in an interview four years ago now…?” The moment isn’t calling for harder questions. A tennis match ended just this second! The moment calls for no questions.

Anyway, sometimes the answers aren’t bland. “I was bricking it completely,” said Katie Boulter, after her first-round match on Centre Court. “She speaks so well,” purred Clare Balding in the BBC studio.

But the moment isn’t calling for more interesting answers. A tennis match just ended! Less than a minute ago! The moment is calling for no answers. Confronted with a detailed description of a particular point that he had lost, a still sweating and breathless Nikoloz Basilashvili stared back through boiling eyes and explained that he couldn’t remember it. “My head has so much heat right now, I’m scrambled.”

He spoke for the sport, he spoke for us, he spoke for not asking a tennis player to conduct their own performance review before they’ve even had a chance to sit down.

Imagine if they did this at the end of concerts. You get the big closing number – lights, lasers, fireworks. And then Rishi steps out of the wings. “Charli xcx, how pleased are you with your performance today?”

“Yeah, super happy with how it went. Pleased to have got the flag-burning done, obviously, and just looking forward to the next show.”

Way to kill the vibe, everybody. Anyway, super happy to have got through this column today. And, yeah, no, taking it one article at a time, ­obviously, for now.