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]Held for the first time in 1877, Wimbledon exudes history. Its first champion, Englishman Spencer Gore, was crowned five years before his country began an annual cricket match with Australia known as the Ashes. The first ladies’ Wimbledon winner, Maud Watson, was awarded a silver flower basket in 1884, nine years before Lord Stanley of Preston purchased a silver cup to give to the best ice hockey team in Canada. The modern Olympic Games were still years away.

The grounds of the All England Club remain a snapshot of a moment from well over a century ago. Gold-encrusted wood, lush green grass and impeccably trimmed flower beds fill the venue, with teenage volunteers and chair umpires dressed in their Sunday best—pressed pants, spotless jackets, ironed skirts—every single day. While sports have become more marketable with each passing year, Wimbledon permits scant sponsor advertising, maintaining an unspoiled presentation of tennis. No sporting event mixes elegance with relevance quite like Wimbledon.

Some may find it all a bit stuffy, seeing Wimbledon as an event fit purely for the elite—like the Queen, who has been spotted in the Royal Box. But consider some of Wimbledon’s other, more livelier traditions. The famous Queue, while time-consuming to traverse, allows anyone to score a courtside seat at Centre Court. Forget about trying that at the Masters. Security is tight, but stewards allow fans to bring in food and drink—including alcohol, unlike the Kentucky Derby—that they can enjoy while stretched out on Murray Mound. It all results in a festival-like atmosphere and a level of freedom rarely seen at a prestigious sporting event.

Then there’s Middle Sunday. This day without play lets all involved with the tournament take a breath—can you imagine any sporting event passing up weekend revenue?—before the second Monday, when all 16 fourth-round singles matches are contested. It may be Wimbledon’s signature tradition, but People’s Sunday—an extra session of play, if poor weather demands it—may be its best.

The rare occurrence happened last year, at my first Wimbledon experience. Ten thousand Centre Court tickets, 8,000 No. 1 Court seats and 4,000 grounds passes were offered online to the public, first-come, first-serve. I joined the lucky grounds-pass holders inside a packed No. 2 Court to watch Jo-Wilfried Tsonga outlast John Isner, 19–17 in the fifth set.

The energy inside the intimate stadium felt different than other days, more concert arena than a reserved stage for a third-round match. There was a sense that the distinguished club was our playground for the day. Not even rain can dampen Wimbledon’s social spirit.

The only people who might appreciate Wimbledon more than the fans are the players. No matter where they hail from, Wimbledon tends to be the tournament they’ve dreamed of winning the most. That was the case for Australia’s Rod Laver, who won the calendar-year Grand Slam twice. He chose a photo of himself clutching the Wimbledon trophy for the cover of his autobiography.

“I had dreamed of Wimbledon virtually since I first lifted a racquet,” wrote Laver. “At Wimbledon my eyes were out on stalks as I took in majestic Centre Court and the pristine outer courts, the ivy-covered walls, the big black limousines delivering the high and mighty to this, the finest championship in the world.”