THINGS have got so bad we're going to have to rely on the Super Swede to save our national pride.

After a painful weekend when the roaring English lion was reduced to a pussy cat, it's going to be left to Sven Goran Eriksson and the boys to salvage a sporting summer when they take on Germany in their make-or-break World Cup qualifer on September 1.

With no Olympics to throw up a Steve Redgrave, Denise Lewis or Jonathan Edwards, we were looking to Wimbledon and the Ashes to provide our fix of nationalistic sporting fervour.

Failing that we wouldn't have minded borrowing a few Welshmen, Irishmen and Scots if together as the British Lions they could beat the Wallabies Down Under.

But after Saturday's mauling in Melbourne a series victory from next weekend's Sydney decider is looking decidely unlikely.

Never mind we thought, surely Tim was on his way to the men's final at SW 19, the first Brit to do so for 63 years, as a potentially momentous weekend began to unwind.

Alas no, that other great British institution -- the weather -- was ready to put paid to those dreams.

Goran Ivanisevic dragged himself up from the depths of despair that had seen him stumbling around centre court on Friday tea-time as if he had been overdoing the Pimms to triumph in extra, extra-time on Sunday lunch-time.

A great story in itself as Goran went on to become the 'People's Champion' but hardly the same as Tiger Tim doing battle with Pat Rafter on Monday afternoon.

At least Henman's protracted exit averted the biggest collective 'sickie' since England beat Tunisia 2-0 in Marseille during the World Cup finals three years ago.

And as he would have been playing an Aussie, naturally Tim wouldn't have had a chance had he dodged the Ivanisevic bullets to etch his name on the BBC Sports Personality of the Year award.

At the same time Henman was bowing out at Wimbledon, we were having our noses ground into the dust in the first Ashes Test at Edgbaston.

The sun is already beginning to set on the great new dawn of English cricket, which broke last summer and shone bright in Pakistan and Sri Lanka over the winter.

Not helped by an injury list of Todd Martin proportions, England were blown away by an Australian side that will make it an embarrassing summer unless we buck up our ideas and get some key batsmen fit.

In the meantime the Aussies can do little wrong -- Rafter's little hiccup apart.

In fact they are so all-powerful at the moment that Adam Scott will probably win the Open Championship next weekend and they'll find somebody to pip Michael Schumacher at the final bend to win Sunday's British Grand Prix at Silverstone.

PERHAPS we can't win anything, but we can sure put on a show.

So it might have taken a few Aussies and Croatians to whip up the Ivanisevic-Rafter showdown into the greatest tennis final ever played.

But only Wimbledon's centre court could have provided the stage for such drama and such a sense of occasion.

We can at least be proud that the best players in the world -- apart from a few spineless clay-courters -- regard Wimbledon as THE place to play.

Monday's final, and everything that went with it, turned out to be one of the great sporting events.

Spare a thought for Rafter, who must have a bit of British in him to be such a glorious loser.

But when Ivanisevic waxes lyrical about the thrill of being the "wildest" lifetime member of the All England Club and the pride at being able to wear the purple and green tie, perhaps it's not so bad to be a 'second-rate nation' at all.