Wimbledon and Hot Gingers

I'm trying. I'm REALLY trying. I just can't (cover your ears if you're easily offended) like Wimbledon.

Sure, it looks fun with all the strawberries, cream, champagne, impromptu Cliff Richard singalong (well, maybe we can do without that component) and well-sculpted men and women in their prime smacking yellow balls about the place hoping to get "points" (How? I think it's when one guy hits a ball and another guy doesn't hit a ball but I could be wrong.) Then there's these other things I don't "get":

1. Games, sets, matches. Eh? Why not just games? Then it won't drag on for hours thus interrupting the TV scheduling of approximately EVERY TV channel. Ok, it may just be BBC1 for this "final" malarkey, but what about The Antiques Roadshow?
2. They all wear white. From the perspective of a non-expert, like myself for example, it's very difficult to tell one 6 foot chiselled chinned, broad-shouldered athlete from their opponent - and that's just the women. Make them wear different coloured strips for God's sake!
3. Games (Sets? Matches?) get rained off, yet they still insist on playing outside. It's the UK for crying out loud! It rains 345 days of the year, otherwise it's drizzling, spitting or dreich. Get a roof and just keep it on.

What I don't understand, but completely appreciate is one factor.

Boris Becker appears to be becoming more ruggedly handsome every single year. He is the hottest ginger man I have ever seen. Followed by the singer from Queens of the Stone Age (a ginger Elvis) and Damien Lewis. For that, I will remain ever grateful to the Wimbledon Tennis Club.

Picture from www.greenobles.com after a cheeky google search.