The Sexism Debate in the Wake of Andy Murray’s Wimbledon Triumph

I have now heard too many people complain about Murray being called “the first British Wimbledon champion since 1936″. The argument goes “yes, he’s the first champion since 1936 IF YOU DON’T THINK WOMEN ARE PEOPLE. Virginia Wade won in 1977!” and they raise a good and true point. If we are to gain equality between genders, then we cannot ignore women in these matters. Personally, I think the point being made is a bit misinformed, so let’s get some more information.

The first thing we need to consider is that there are 9 separate competitions for able-bodied professional tennis players each year at Wimbledon, and a player of British citizenship who wins any of these competitions is a British Wimbledon champion. They are as follows:

–       Men’s singles

–       Women’s singles

–       Men’s doubles

–       Women’s doubles

–       Mixed doubles

–       Boys’ singles

–       Girls’ singles

–       Boys’ doubles

–       Girls’ doubles

Since 1936, the year Fred Perry won the men’s singles competition, there have been 31 trophies won by 29 different British athletes over these 9 competitions. They are as follows:

1937 – Dorothy Little (women’s singles)

1937 – Billie York (women’s doubles)

1950 – L.M. Cornell (girls’ singles)

1950 – J.A.T. Horn (boys’ singles)

1951 – L.M. Cornell (girls’ singles)

1952 – R.K. Wilson (boys’ singles)

1953 – W.A. Knight (boys’ singles)

1954 – V.A. Pitt (girls’ singles)

1955 – S.M. Armstrong (girls’ singles)

1955 – M.P. Hann (boys’ singles)

1955 – Angela Barrett and Ann Shilcock (women’s doubles)

1956 – A.S. Haydon (girls’ singles)

1956 – Angela Buxton (women’s doubles)

1957 – J.I. Tattersall (boys’ singles)

1961 – Angela Barrett (women’s Singles)

1962 – S.J. Matthews (boys’ singles)

1969 – Ann Jones (women’s and mixed doubles)

1977 – Virginia Wade (women’s singles)

1983 – John Lloyd (mixed doubles)

1984 – John Lloyd (mixed doubles)

1984 – A.N. Croft (girls’ singles)

1987 – Jeremy Bates and Jo Durie (mixed doubles)

1994 – E.E. Jelfs (girls’ doubles)

1995 – J. Lee and J.M. Trotman (boys’ doubles)

2007 – Jamie Murray (mixed doubles)

2008 – Laura Robson (girls’ singles)

2010 – Liam Broady and T. Farquharson (boys’ doubles)

2011 – G. Morgan (boys’ doubles)

2012 – Jonny Marray (men’s doubles)

2013 – Andy Murray (men’s singles)

So let’s break down this list. Those arguing that women are being ignored should know that this list comprises 15 female and 14 male tennis players. So yes, there is an imbalance in that we are ignoring women and girls more than we are ignoring the men and boys. But the male players have also not been mentioned!

Let us also consider that Virginia Wade has been singled out as the most recent champion before Andy Murray. Well since 1977 there have been 12 trophies by 14 different players, 4 of whom are female, the remaining 10 male. The difference between those 14 players and Virginia Wade is that Virginia won a senior event in the singles. Those who say that Virginia Wade is being marginalised are in fact marginalising all the junior and doubles champions. This isn’t as bad as sexism of course, but their achievements should not go unnoticed.

But enough about numbers.

I think the real crux of the issue comes down to the media aspect of Wimbledon, and public perception of the event. With the exception of Boris Becker and Tim Henman, I don’t think any of the commentators are very good. Andrew Castle shouldn’t be allowed to comment on his dinner, never mind a grand slam. The commentators are the ones who are saying “first British winner at Wimbledon since 1936”. Every newspaper article I’ve seen uses the much more accurate “first British winner of the Wimbledon men’s singles since 1936”. The fact is that commentators need to entertain, and breaking a 77-year drought is bigger than a 1-year drought. It could also be that the more accurate version of events reported in newspapers is simply too much of a mouthful when one is talking on live television, and they assume that anyone watching will know what they mean. It could just be that Andrew Castle is a complete moron and should stick to the injury lawyers 4U (ugh, text speak in company names makes me feel queasy).

In terms of public perception, there is no doubt that the men’s singles is the biggest event in Wimbledon and so it’s given the biggest emphasis. There are a few reasons why, and it would be fantastic if all were treated equal, but that is something that smarter people than I will have to tackle. I’ll watch any tennis if it’s on.

The 77-year drought between British men’s singles champions has been the longest out of all 9 competitions. We have won every trophy multiple times since then, and we should be happy about all of them. I don’t like that the female champions have been marginalised by this throwaway comment, but I also don’t like the marginalisation of junior tennis players and those who play in the doubles tournaments.

Since Fred Perry we have had 28 British champions at Wimbledon, now Andy Murray has made it 29. Let’s just be happy.

Oh, and could someone please fire Andrew Castle.

Phlogiston, AKA The Things We Used to Know

Science, as in all human ventures, has taken its fair share of wrong turns. But unlike our usual reaction to gaffes and slip-ups, those made in science can offer humanity a chance to grow and learn.

My favourite of all our mistakes is by far phlogiston. I would say that I’m not sure if it’s my favourite because of the undeniable beauty of the theory, the way it reminds me simpler times when we knew that earth was an element, or because of what happened next, except that I’m absolutely sure it’s the latter. You see, this silly mistake would go on to define what we know and how we go about knowing what we know.

For the non-scientist readers, I would like to say at this point that you should stick with me here. I’m going to explain some science for a bit, but it’s not all numbers and quantum tunnelling. I’m not sure if I’m being blinkered by a lifetime of scientific obsession, but I honestly think this is a funny story with an important lesson.

So to set the scene, imagine it’s 1667. Alchemists still think that earth, air, fire, and water are the only four elements, Dmitri Mendeleev hasn’t constructed the periodic table of elements yet (or been born, for that matter), and to make matters worse just last year in 1666 London was ravaged by the worst fire in history. Whilst boring people decided that large amounts of uncontrolled fire wasn’t conducive for comfortable living and went around making sure that there was less of it around London, the more peculiar scientific minds of the time decided to tackle what they saw as a more important matter. You see, we didn’t know much about fire in 1667 other than it being bad for buildings and good for cooking. Then came Johann Joachim Becher.

Becher was a German alchemist who first proposed the phlogiston theory in his book Physical Education in 1667. He had noticed that when wood was burned, the resulting ash weighed less than the original piece of wood. It followed that wood was made of ash and something else, which was dissipated into the air during the process of combustion. Using this information, he proposed a change to the classical theory of the four elements, replacing fire and air with ‘terra lapidea’, ‘terra fluida’, and ‘terra pinguis’. The latter, said Becher, was what caused combustibility and was released during burning, causing a drop in weight. In 1703 Georg Ernst Stahl renamed ‘terra pinguis’ as phlogiston, and although he proposed minor variants on the theory, the main characteristics remained unchanged.

Soon, we had a classification system for all substances, namely that everything was either “phlogiscated” or “dephlogisticated”. A “phlogisticated” substance became “dephlogisticated” when burned. So instead of ash, we had “dephlogisticated wood”. James Bryan Conant described phlogiston in his 1950 paper The Overthrow of Phlogiston Theory: The Chemical Revolution of 1775–1789:

“In general, substances that burned in air were said to be rich in phlogiston; the fact that combustion soon ceased in an enclosed space was taken as clear-cut evidence that air had the capacity to absorb only a finite amount of phlogiston. When air had become completely phlogisticated it would no longer serve to support combustion of any material, nor would a metal heated in it yield a calx; nor could phlogisticated air support life, for the role of air in respiration was to remove the phlogiston from the body.”

Although to us living in the future this sounds ridiculous, almost everything about the theory held up. A candle, when trapped in a bell jar, does stop burning. We know now that this is because it’s used up all the oxygen required for combustion, but we knew then it was because air only had a finite capacity for holding phlogiston. It makes so much sense! If only we could capture some of it; if only it weren’t such an ethereal substance that evades our efforts to understand it more…

This is the point in the story where phlogiston takes a major hit. Becher, Stahl and later contributors to the theory such as Robert Boyle had all missed something. Everything about phlogiston theory was hanging on one fact; that materials lost weight during combustion due to the loss of phlogiston. If this were to be disproved then the whole theory would fall to pieces. In 1753 Mikhail Lomonosov did just that. Lomonosov introduced pure heat to magnesium in an enclosed space, and noticed that the weight of the resulting ash was more than what he had started with. That was it. Phlogiston had been disproven.

After that, there were a few people who hung on to phlogiston, but their knowledge had been downgraded to belief and faith. There were suggestions that phlogiston had negative weight, or that it was lighter than air, but nothing could stop the speedy demise of this groundbreaking theory, and the corresponding rise of the modern chemistry that displaced classical alchemy.

Although the science that followed is incredibly important, I think there is a bigger lesson to be learnt here. The way science deals with mistakes can inform the way we all deal with incontrovertible evidence to the contrary of our knowledge.

Tim Minchin, I believe, describes this attitude best in his critical thinking poem Storm:

“Science adjusts its beliefs based on what’s observed, faith is the denial of observation so that Belief can be preserved. If you show me that, say, homeopathy works, then I will change my mind. I’ll spin on a fucking dime. I’ll be embarrassed as hell, but I will run through the streets yelling “It’s a miracle! Take physics and bin it! Water has memory! And while it’s memory of a long lost drop of onion juice is infinite, it somehow forgets all the poo it’s had in it!”

You show me that it works and how it works and, when I’ve recovered from the shock, I will take a compass and carve ‘fancy that’ on the side of my cock.”

Humanity, for one reason or another, has an insatiable urge to move forward. To know more today than we did yesterday, and work hard so that what we know today pales in comparison to what we’ll know tomorrow. We’re on a timeline of discovery and we’re not entirely sure what’s next, and to find out more we must be humble, and do more than merely accept the facts when they turn against us, we must actively seek out our mistakes in order to push ourselves further and be prepared to do a swift about-turn when the situation calls for it. Richard P. Feynmann once said that “we are trying to prove ourselves wrong as quickly as possible, because only in that way can we find progress”.

We mustn’t fear looking silly in the history books and we should accept failure with open arms as an opportunity to grow and learn. The only true failure, the only way we will definitely look like idiots to the eyes of future humanity, is if we dig our heels in to outdated theories and refuse to change. History is littered with big, beautiful ideas that have been proven wrong, and for all we know almost everything we know now could be headed to the same fate. We used to know the world was flat and we used to know that the sun revolved around the earth. We used to know that ash was dephlogisticated wood and we used to know who created the heavens and the earth. Imagine what we’ll know tomorrow.

Deer Can’t Do Differential Equations

It’s been almost two years since I finished my university degree. I studied Natural Sciences, majoring in physical chemistry with a minor in atomic and particle physics. The memories I have of my degree are of long hours, frustrating labs, just about enough of my dissertation to explain it if need be, relief on getting my final grade, and genuinely enjoying the process of learning as much as I could about my chosen field (Yes, I used an Oxford comma. I’m a fan of the Oxford comma, but that is an entirely different blog post). But I don’t remember any of the little details. I remember the bigger ideas of quantum mechanics and science in general, but In the two years since I finished my degree most of those fascinating little details about quark structure, spectroscopy, and wavefunctions have escaped my mind, or rather been pushed out to be replaced by equally fascinating facts about law and the myriad of other topics that my mind will arbitrarily become obsessed with. Apart from one. There is one quote from one lecturer that has stuck with me; “Deer can’t do differential equations”.

The exact topic of the lecture that this quote appeared in is unimportant; all you need to know is that it involved differential equations and a side note on their potentially life-saving applications and the scientific instincts that lie within all of us. It sounded like one of those stock answers that teachers have about their topic for any student who dares ask why a certain topic has any relevance to them. My Mother, a maths teacher, has quite a few of these. This particular answer, for one reason or another, stuck with me, which is why I’m telling you about it.

As a quick background, a differential equation is an equation involving derivatives of a function or functions (thanks, Google dictionary). An example of this would be speed. Speed can be expressed as a function of distance and time. To calculate the speed of a moving object one differentiates distance with respect to time. Simple, right?

Well, yes. It is simple when stated like this. But it can also be as complex as a few pages worth of derivation or as simple as an inbuilt instinct, depending on how you go about calculating it.

Let’s say someone is trying to cross a road, but they see a car heading their way in the distance. How does one calculate whether or not they will lose this game of real-life frogger if they choose to cross the road at a given time?

For dramatic effect, let’s tackle the more complex way first. This requires us to examine the speed, acceleration, dimensions and distance between the car and our subject (who I’m going to start calling Frogger).

To calculate acceleration we must calculate the change in speed over time, or differentiate the speed with respect to time (and speed is already a function of distance with respect to time, which to increases the difficulty of taking measurements). To calculate whether the car will flatten Frogger, we need to calculate this for both parties.

The next step is to set the parameters for a collision. The two parties must obviously be occupying the same space at the same time.

So if we know the speed and rate of acceleration of the car, how far away it is, the width of the road, when Frogger begins to move, the direction that they are moving and the speed and rate of acceleration then we can plug this into a complicated formula, which some of you may have noticed that I’ve left out here, we can calculate whether or not Frogger makes it.

It’s a horrible headache of a calculation that will take at least a side of A4 to calculate and it discounts countless other factors (will the car stop? how nimble is Frogger once he has noticed his mistake? What if neither party has a pen, paper, and a calculator with which to figure this out? Do they have the educational background to do this calculation? Why doesn’t one of them just stop and let the other go? Why are they writing down differential equations when they are heading towards a nasty collision?!).

So why aren’t the figures for such collisions much higher? After all, who has the time and energy to do differential equations the whole time?

The answer is that it’s because we are doing differential equations the whole time. This is the simple answer.

When we are standing by the side of the road looking for when we can cross, we look at the cars coming and our minds take over. We do all the above calculations just by looking at the car heading towards us and our brain tells us whether or not we can go. We can even do this with cars heading in both directions. In the right conditions we can even start these calculations before looking, before even stepping towards the edge of the pavement, just by listening out for cars.

Deer, on the other hand, can’t do this, and that is why they get hit by cars. Deer can’t do differential equations.