Maybe. But it was different for me. I saw Leander make his Davis Cup debut; I was there when he nearly won an Olympic medal in 1992; and then I wrote about it all when he did win a bronze four years later at the Atlanta Olympics. And now this -- two Wimbledon titles in a day!

Normal people can't appreciate such things, more so with Sexy Anna in the vicinity. That's when you realise, the only thing worse than playing an opponent like Anna Kournikova is sitting in the stands and cheering for someone other than the Blonde Bombshell. Leander Paes and Lisa Raymond endured the former, and I the latter.

At stake for Leander was a separate page in history books, and for me a chance to ensure a story I could dine out on forthe rest of my life.

There is possibly more about me here than Leander's achievements. But then, what do you expect, when you now know everything about what Leander's achieved and nothing of what I have?

To begin at the beginning. I was in London for only a few days and despite his busy schedule our busy Tennis Correspondent managed to get me a ticket for Court One on Sunday afternoon and then patronisingly added, "You may be lucky and get to see a Girl's or Boys final or maybe an Over-35 match. The rest of the finals are at Centre Court." I couldn't complain, for Centre Court tickets were going for upwards of 1,000 pounds from scalpers. And my colleague had paid three and a half pounds -- he got a 50 per cent discount on the strength of being a journalist.

He bought the ticket on Wednesday. It poured on Thursday and Friday. Match schedules went topsy-turvy; there were too many finals for Sunday and the men's doubles got scheduled for Court One on Sunday! Leander and Mahesh made the final. The rest ishistory. Now for the story of my lifetime.

In the morning, I clicked lots of pictures with the camera Canon loaned me -- as also many other spectators -- during the men's doubles. Lee and Hesh -- called the `Indian Express' on the circuit, in case you didn't know (and I, despite my association with this paper, had nothing to do with the nickname) -- made mincement of their opponents in the last three sets after losing the first in a heart-wrenching manner. One in the bag, one more to go. More strawberries and cream, and Pimms, please.

The evening mixed doubles final was the one I shall cherish; the one time I really savoured being a spectator instead of a reporter having to burst a blood vessel keeping a deadline, knowing it was well past midnight as Lea and Lisa inched their way to history as Gorgeous Anna looked more and more forlorn. Never before have I enjoyed seeing a beauty in distress.

Even as I reduced myself into a minority of one cheering for Leander and Lisa, I suddenly realised there were afew other Indian supporters, who had by now found courage to say words other than "Anna, Anna..." It doesn't behoove a professional sports journalist to be taking sides at a Wimbledon final. But what the hell, I was also making my debut -- spectating at Wimbledon.

And now for that last bit, which will ensure a good after-dinner audience for the rest of my life: At the post-match press conference -- I sneaked in despite not carrying a media card; old habits die hard -- Leander hugged and thanked me. Pray, for what? "Thanks for all that cheering. I saw you right in front and heard you all through. It was great." Boom! Was it Leander who had won a Wimbledon title or me? Maybe it was just a nice gesture on Leander's part, or maybe he really meant it. I'll take the latter option.