A comfortable upbringing hasn't stopped Jonny Wilkinson or Paula Radcliffe reaching the top - or Tim Henman, come to that. We'd all rather die than admit it, but most of us are effectively middle class anyway.
Britain has 70 per cent homeownership and 11 successive years of economic growth. Anyone hoping to find the next Wimbledon champ in the under-class minority, left behind on drug-strewn, crime-ridden sink estates, will have their work cut out.
But why worry, if tennis just isn't our game? Look at that list of countries. Britain is far more successful, across a wider range of sports than any of them.
So Belgium has a couple of tennis gals. Now name another Belgian sportsman. The Swiss could kick our butt at skiing. But do you fancy their chances at rugby?
Could the Argentines beat us at cricket, rowing, athletics or snooker? Put those nations' top golfers together: I reckon we'd beat them.
What's amazing is not that we're rubbish at tennis, but that we're great at so much else. And when you consider what tennis does to its young starlets, we should be grateful to be excluded. Look at poor, skinny Daniela Hantuchova, cracking up on court.
We Brits don't put our kids through the same torture. We just stage the world's greatest tournament, sit there scoffing strawberries and cream, watching other people's over-stressed munchkins. Then we go and play tennis for fun. Sounds pretty smart to me.
Mind games too much for Rikki
How long should sportsmen be given to prove their talent? England's newlook cricketers are taking on Pakistan, Zimbabwe and South Africa this summer, sides that are also in transition.
Conventional wisdom says people need time to find their feet and gain confidence. But convention is wrong.
Real quality in any field is immediately apparent, and the bigger the stage, the brighter it shines. James Anderson had barely played a first class game before he was called up for England, but has looked an international bowler from day one.
Mark Ramprakash, meanwhile, has just celebrateda full house of centuries against every county in England, but he never convinced at Test level. This summer, Robert Key and Rikki Clarke have the look of those who may never step up.
Steve Harmison, too, lacks that vital edge. In the end, it's a question of attitude - a quality of mind that separates sinkers and swimmers.
The same principle applies to all sport. Think of the teenage Boris Becker at Wimbledon, or Michael Owen at France 98. Like that old advert says, "One instinctively knows when something is right." And one doesn't need too much time to find out.
Sharapova making a Miss Piggy of herself
So, farewell then, Maria Sharapova, with your long legs, blonde hair, stunning ground-strokes and world famous grunt.
Right from the off, I'd been all ears for the first round clash between Ashley Harkleroad and Sharapova. The two of them were soon whinnying away like partynight at a stud-farm.
Sharapova's grunt, I realised, is intriguingly complex. It starts low, before a dramatic rise in volume and pitch, followed by a dying fall. She sounds exactly like Miss Piggy, just as she wallops Kermit: "Hai-eeee-ahh!!!"
After the match, Harkleroad complained that Sharapova had put her off her game. The unfair effect on the other player was always my objection to grunting, and the complaints had an effect. Sharapova turned the volume down.
For me, that was it, job done. But others have climbed on the Mariabashing bandwagon. Pat Cash and Pam Shriver complained that Sharapova insulted her second-round opponent Jelena Dokic by blowing kisses to the adoring Court One crowd. They even objected to the fist-pumping with which she geed herself up. This from a man who mountaineered up the Centre Court after he won the title. Why shouldn't a 16-year-old kid be happy about a big win?
Sharapova is a terrific player. Next year she'll be a good bet. If she cuts out the Miss Piggy act, we should shut up too, and let her get on with her game.
