Losing Murray will leave a huge hole in British sport
We must hope this is not the end, but if it is, it has been a privilege
THE first Wimbledon men’s singles final I remember is Stan Smith versus Ilie Nastase in 1972. I was glued to all of them after that. I remember the sadness of Ken Rosewall being demolished by Jimmy Connors and the beauty of the last point of the 1975 final when Arthur As he advanced to the net to put away an easy smash to win his first All England Club title.
Our house was across the road from the tennis club in a Cheshire village and I spent long summer days there, playing all morning and most of the afternoon and then heading into the clubhouse to watch the action from Wimbledon on the television. Bjorn Borg was my tennis hero in those days. He still is now. In my mind, his semi-final with Vitas Gerulaitis in 1977 went on long into the night.
There were never any British men involved. Tennis was another country then. In fact, it was several other countries.
It was Sweden and the US mainly, with twists of Czechoslovakia and Germany thrown in.
And if you loved clay-court tennis like me, there was the Argentine, Guillermo Vilas, with his headband and his cool, swashbuckling topspin forehand, who won at Roland Garros one year.
British men weren’t really a factor. They were restricted to cameo roles. I liked Roger Taylor because of that famous moment when he offered to replay a match point he had won against Borg in the Wimbledon quarter- final in 1973. Taylor was a brilliant player, too. He made the semis three times at the All England club.
But after him, it was a desert of also-rans called Buster or Jeremy. If they made it past the second round, there was national rejoicing. The closest John Lloyd got to a world No 1 was marrying Chris Evert. Although he did win the Wimbledon mixed doubles with Wendy Turnbull a couple of times. That was a high point.
The idea that a British man might ever win a Grand Slam singles title, though, was a pipe dream. It just felt like it wasn’t really our thing any more. We weren’t made of the right stuff. It felt as if tennis in Britain had become a game for dilettantes and also-rans.
Tennis was something other nations were good at. And there was something pathetic about us glorying in hosting what we called the best tennis tournament in the world, revelling in its strawberries and cream traditions and watching as our standard-bearers set new benchmarks for mediocrity.
For us, the Wimbledon fortnight was pitched somewhere between a national embarrassment and an exercise in good-humoured self-deprecation. There was very little sense that there was hope of things improving. The system was broken. Being hopeless at tennis was something we came to accept. Andy Murray changed that. He changed all of it. He didn’t just reclaim Wimbledon for Britain but he reclaimed tennis, too. Tim Henman was a wonderful player who never got t he credit he deserved but it was Murray who took the final step. He made tennis something we could be proud of again, not just something we admired from afar.
And as he contemplates hip surgery that will cast doubt on how much time he has left in the game, it’ s worth appreciating what Murray has done for sport in this country now rather than later.
If this is the end, it’s a good excuse to write some warm words about him. If this isn’t the end, it’s a good excuse to write some warm words about him, too. It is hard to overstate how important he is to the modern British sporting psyche. He proved that you do not have to come from privilege to be a great tennis player and he showed that becoming a superstar does not mean you have to lose all sense of humility.
He proved that if you work hard enough you can succeed, even in a world dominated by the two best players of all time. He proved that you really can succeed against all the odds. He proved that you can face down critics and turn them into admirers.
Murray did not just rise to become the best tennis player in the world. He spoke out about things that mattered, like the importance of putting his family above everything, like greater equality in the way men and women are treated in tennis. They weren’t just empty words either. He hired a female coach, Amelie Mauresmo.
His example is the example of a man who succeeded in spite of the system, not because of it. His example is the example of a kid who was confident enough and singular enough to shun the LTA and move forward alone.
His example is the example of a kid who overcame a terrible personal trauma and has done everything he can since to make sure his home town of Dunblane is remembered for the noble exploits of a wonderful son of whom it can be thoroughly and lastingly proud.
His example is the example of a kid who climbed out of obscurity in an area of the United Kingdom where facilities for tennis are sparse, to say the least, particularly in the winter. His example is the example of a kid who moved to a tennis academy in Barcelona when he was 15 to follow his dream.
And most of all, his example is the example of a man who has worked and worked and worked to achieve the greatest honours in the game and rise to become the best player in the world, even when Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal, the greatest in history, are still playing and winning titles.
He has not taken short cuts, he has not taken it easy, he has not disrespected his opponents, he has not had his head turned by fame or fortune, he has not lost his talent for self-deprecation, he has not lost his love of the game, he has not diluted his will to win.
If I were growing up now, heading over the road to my tennis club to play every day, I would revere Federer and Nadal but Murray would be my hero. They say don’t meet them, don’t they, but I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve spent in Murray’s company. I hope this isn’t the end, but whether it is or it isn’t, it has been a privilege.