Essay – A champion in a golden era for tennis
Spirit. Grit. Determination. And a will to win that made Andy Murray a champion in a golden era for tennis...
SADNESS was, of course, the first reaction to news that Britain’s greatest ever sportsman – no ifs, no buts, no arguments – is finally succumbing to a crippling hip injury that makes it simply impossible to carry on.
It’s only natural, too, that we should be greedy for more. To see Andy Murray make just one more round of the show courts at SW19 would be enough. Honest.
Amid the tears and the wishful thinking, however, it’s important to put another couple of emotions to the forefront of any discussion.
Gratitude, first and foremost. Accompanied by just the slightest hint of embarrassment that, during this golden era for Scottish and British sport, governments of all sizes and hues have failed to construct a lasting legacy befitting such a champion.
So thank you, Andy. Know that your efforts have been appreciated. Understand that the people of Scotland, in particular, will never forget what you’ve done for our profile on the world stage.
Murray’s impending departure from competitive tennis, ending a career that has provided millions with so many moments of uproarious rapture, inevitably leads to reflections on how much he achieved. And where he stands in the pantheon of sporting legends.
On the first count, well, how long have you got? It could take all day just to list the many prizes Murray has wrested from the grip of rivals. Even the most prestigious of those, the two Wimbledon titles, the US Open crown and the astonishing Davis Cup triumph, plus the pair of Olympic gold medals, are valuable beyond the heft they add to some pub debate about who deserves to be considered the best of all time.
They proved something. They showed a generation of young Scots, especially, that where you come from doesn’t matter half as much as where you’re going. Yes, kids genuinely are inspired by local heroes. They are uncomplicated enough to think: ‘Well, if he can do it…’
The many Scottish athletes who have grown up during the Andy Murray era will have seen his successes as evidence that, perhaps surprisingly, there isn’t anything genetically inferior about girls from Glasgow or boys from Bathgate.
AND the way in which Murray made it to the summit, from the famously brutal winter training camps to the let-it-all-out emotional exhaustion he showed on court, provided a new kind of role model.
In Scotland, where there is some residual cultural affection for the wide boys – footballers, traditionally – who never took their talent too seriously, Murray’s example of absolute dedication felt like a step change.
As for what he did for his sport in Britain, well, it’s almost impossible to calculate the benefits. Although you can guarantee that someone at the Lawn Tennis Association has counted it out to the penny.
British tennis was, as one brilliant veteran of this business once put it, a giggling garden party before Murray barrelled in with his ambition, his drive and his unwillingness to ignore rank stupidity.
Here was a guy to make the stiffest of upper lips wobble in trepidation. One favourite memory is of him laying waste to the LTA’s entire system of talent development … while the chief executive of said organisation sat two places away at the top table. That bluntness was undoubtedly an aspect of Murray’s perfectionist streak, although it also reflected his sense of fair play.
He couldn’t stand the idea of young talents with the right work ethic being left to wither on the vine, while players who came through some skewed production line could swan about until they lost interest.
This same innate grasp of right and wrong led Murray to declare, publicly, that he would never become a tax exile.
Sure, you could argue that someone with his wealth could afford such principles. But plenty of multi-millionaires – in sport and in commerce – choose non-dom status.
Murray spoke out about doping, about match fixing, even about the importance of understanding mental health back when others still considered it a touchy subject.
Perhaps never was he more robust, though, than in his promotion of women in sport.
There’s a reason why the legendary Billy Jean King was one of the first to pay tribute to Murray yesterday.
From famously correcting John Inverdale’s declaration about him being the only person ever to win back-to-back Olympic tennis gold, instantly pointing to a couple of sisters by the name of Williams as a rebuttal, to supporting the push for equal prize money across the gender divide, he simply considered the subject a no-brainer.
‘If being a feminist is about fighting so that a woman is treated like a man then, yes, I suppose I am,’ said an almost bemused Murray when asked about the label. As if ‘not’ being a feminist would be ludicrous.
Andy and elder brother Jamie, of course, both reflect extremely well on their parents, especially mum Judy – a force of nature cunningly disguised as a coach and campaigner.
The past couple of years have been hard on her. In conversation with her last year, she talked movingly about the pain of seeing her boy struggle to battle back from injury.
Judy spoke about something she calls ‘the righting reflex’, a natural desire for parents to see their kids stay safe, happy and, if possible, successful. That isn’t something you can just push to one side.
As much as she wanted to see him come back, then, the mother in her will just be pleased he’s not going to pun-
ish himself any more. Because, while injuries are a part of every sport, everything you need to know about Andy Murray’s warrior heart was laid bare in a few telling sentences from his tearful press conference halfway round the world.
TALKING about the possibility of a second operation on his damaged hip, he revealed that going under the knife wouldn’t save his career. But it would improve his quality of life. This isn’t a guy who just gets a bit sore when he hits balls for too long on a hard court.
Murray is in pain from the moment he wakes up until the sweet release of slumber. Yet he’s still been willing to push himself day after day.
Financially secure long ago, with multiple other interests and options ahead of him, he didn’t want to give it all up – the unbelievable sacrifice, the agony and the grind – until he’d given it one last shot.
And to think that Virginia Wade once branded the younger Murray a ‘drama queen.’ Well, everyone says things they later regret.
The sad truth is that, when the more po-faced made snide comments about this wild-haired Scot shaking up the establishment during those breakthrough years, it found an audience.
Plenty of petty-minded folk found excuses not to like Murray. Ignoring his great friendship with the man who preceded him as Britain’s great tennis hope, many simply never forgave him for not being Tim Henman.
The misguided and the merely hateful certainly diminished in numbers, or at least volume, once Murray delivered that first Grand Slam title.
Staying up late to watch his US Open victory in 2012 was, for any Scot raised in an era when tennis was about as popular as quoits and croquet, about as mind-altering as witnessing the moon landings. History was being made.
Better still was the sheer euphoria of Murray’s homecoming as he paraded the trophy around the thronged streets of Dunblane, a town that will forever be known as the cradle of his tennis career.
Amid the hoopla and hype of that day, it’s worth noting that the man himself was already thinking ahead. Sitting in a quiet back room of the tennis club where he learned the game, he told a few assembled hacks that he could not be satisfied with one Slam. And we all knew the one he really wanted.
When he delivered the desired victory at the All England Club the following summer, well, do you remember the sheer joy of it all?
If you happened to catch a clip of it again yesterday, as many undoubtedly did while trawling through social media, you can’t have failed to be moved by the memory. Judy weeping into the shoulder of long-time coach and mentor Leon Smith, Andy himself in tears on the turf. Even just the hint of a smile from Ivan Lendl. That triumph alone should have been enough to put him in contention for the Greatest Ever title.
Sure, others will put forward arguments for Seb Coe, Chris Hoy, Dame Mary Peters, Jess Ennis and half a dozen more. In Scotland, where football is still king, many cannot see past Kenny Dalglish.
But Murray marched into Wimbledon, year after year, bearing a burden of history few other British sportsmen or women ever laboured under. And shrugged it aside.
Here, in the home of tennis, he was being asked to end decade after decade of embarrassment.
In becoming the first British man to win the singles title in 77 years, Murray did more than just conquer Novak Djokovic again. He beat history. Triumphed over every expectation of yet another home failure. Shook up the world.
A second Wimbledon title would be added to his collection, of course. But there’s something else, something beyond a single tournament victory, that sets Murray apart from even the most storied of sporting Britons.
In the greatest era tennis has ever known, a time when giants like Roger Federer, Rafa Nadal and Djokovic dominated the game, Andy made it all the way to the top of the world rankings – and held on to that spot as 2016 drew to close.
That meant a lot to him, of course. Tennis is, after all, an individual sport. Yet Murray, whose love of boxing – the ultimate gladiatorial contest – is only matched by his interest in football, also did it all for a greater cause.
ON the international stage, no one was more proud to represent Great Britain. The first Olympic gold, which somehow stood out even amid the many glories of London 2012, was something that he really needed.
On Centre Court, avenging his Wimbledon final loss to Federer just weeks earlier, came a victory he credited with kick-starting his run of Slams.
In Rio four years later, he paid Team GB back in fine style, running himself into the ground to beat Juan Martin del Potro in a gruelling four-hour final. Even taking part in those Games meant he would probably write off his chances of US Open victory.
Putting so much into the final pretty much guaranteed he’d be exhausted before getting on the plane. But he wanted to win the gold for Britain, not for himself.
That same team spirit was evident, obviously, every time he turned out for GB in the Davis Cup. There was something wondrous about Jamie and Andy combining, as they did in 2015, to win the Cup for Britain for the first time since 1936. We’ll always have those memories. Something to get us through the wait for another great champion to arise.
No disrespect to the Brits currently chipping away at the upper echelons of tennis but, without Murray, even Wimbledon is likely to become just another block on the sporting calendar for many.
Traditionalists and tennis diehards will watch every minute. The millions who tuned in only for Murray, the thrill of having skin in the game adding to the drama, will let it slip into the background.
On the windswept courts of Scotland, meanwhile, the older kids will still draw on the inspiration of the great man. And hope to one day follow in the trail he blazed.
It’s worth noting, though, not a single public indoor tennis court was built during Murray’s decade at the very top of the game.
As he focuses on his management company, including looking after a couple of young footballers at boyhood heroes Hibs, don’t expect him to stay quiet on a subject close to his heart.
Politicians and sporting administrators had better brace themselves. Imagine how persistent he can be when he doesn’t have to train for six hours a day.
While some suggest we put his face on a bank note or name everything from airports to highways after him, then following up on all ten indoor courts promised – over two years ago now – by authorities would be a better tribute.
An Andy Murray Centre for Tennis in every region of Scotland? Consider it a partial repayment of the debt we owe to our finest champion.