I thought Andy would win Wimbledon, but dared not say
Former BBC tennis correspondent Jonathan Overend on how he saw a brilliant and bolshie teenager become a star who entranced a nation
The first time I properly met Andrew Murray he was juggling tennis balls on his feet in a low-key leisure centre. Left foot, right foot, high, low, left, right; nothing beyond control, the world at his feet. Luxembourg, of all places. A 16-year-old Scotsman, making waves in the juniors, had been invited by Britain’s then Davis Cup captain, Jeremy Bates, primarily to pick the brains of Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski but also, as it transpired, play them off the practice court.
Desperate to rise above the role of sparring partner, Murray played one set that dismantled the Rusedski serve/volley game in a devastating demonstration of potential. Clearly an astute thinker, Murray dropped returns in short, always to the backhand weakness, jamming the frazzled Rusedski and driving him to despair.
With the chance for a chat, an important question: “Is it Andrew or Andy?” “Definitely Andy,” he replied. I sent an email to the BBC Sport department in the hope a respectable minority would read it. We were going to be saying this name a few times over many years, I suspected.
Murray had invited criticism the previous September when, before a tie in Morocco, he had turned down a similar invitation. But far from the perceived snub, Murray, 785 in the world and not in the business of skipping the competitive futures tour, replaced Casablanca for Glasgow, where a $10,000 tournament for grown-ups suddenly had a 16-year-old local champion. Ruthless.
This streak returned at the end of 2004. He won the BBC Young Sports Personality award for his US Open Junior victory but unmentioned on the night, at TV Centre in London, was an achievement far more significant. The previous day, he was on the Spanish clay winning another Futures title, his third of the season. The trip to London followed – the award on live TV, a self-instigated chat with Sir Clive Woodward at the after-party – then back to Spain, back to the clay, winning five more matches and another three-set final.
Those back-to-back titles, at a time when most rivals’ seasons had ended (with an overnight in London in between), were more important than the US Open or the BBC gong.
We had seen enough. Talent and desire, edge and angst, It was such an exciting time. How good he could be? The big question.
The distinguished Tony Adamson went full Nostradamus at Wimbledon 2005 as Murray, on debut, thrashed George Bastl on No 2 Court. At the microphone on the old “graveyard” court, “Addo”, a veteran of many Wimbledon finals and golf majors exclaimed: “Mark my words, this boy is a future Wimbledon champion.”
Being fairly fresh to the job as BBC correspondent, I felt compelled to dampen expectations around someone only just 18. Issuing a dose of dreariness to the afternoon’s radio output, I remember saying: “Much as I love Tony Adamson, it’s way too early to say he’s a future Wimbledon champion.” Everyone nodded sagely.
We’ve laughed about it many times since because, while professional perspective was on my mind, I should have backed him up, not least because my gut instinct was to agree.
As the senior career gathered pace, Murray often channelled his rebellious streak to win matches and prove people wrong. He would pick fights, rail against wild statements or lazy assumptions, fascinated by the workings of the media.
After I arranged a dinner with Judy Murray in Hamburg, in 2006, she texted in the afternoon asking whether Andy could join us. We went to a sports bar in the Rothenbaum district to watch the Champions League final between Arsenal and Barcelona. Around sips of Sprite, Murray, now 19, spent the whole night asking questions. How does that work? What’s he like? What does she do? Why do you do that?
It was genuinely refreshing to face an inquisition from a teenager so curious about our industry. On returning home, I wrote a massive document that I emailed over, distilling our conversation and adding further thoughts on the media machine. I felt a lot of mistrust could be solved with mutual empathy.
Many ups and down later, in April 2013, a seismic personal decision. After more than 10 years travelling the world, most of them reporting on just one man, I felt ready to let someone else have a go at one of the prime BBC jobs. My brilliant boss, Richard Burgess, asked if I would continue through until Wimbledon so, for three months, I knew my last commentary as BBC tennis correspondent would be the men’s singles final.
For three hours, with Murray leading Novak Djokovic two sets to love and serving for the title, 5-4 in the third, it looked like the perfect finale. Only for the contest to begin.
With Murray’s racket arm shaking, he lost three match points. Djokovic grinned alarmingly; he knew it, we knew it. The incredible Serb was back in the match and Murray was on the verge of crumbling under the weight of reality, not to mention history. How Murray withstood the Djokovic resurgence and hauled himself through that epic final game I will never know. The closest he came to defeat was when serving for the match.
Transfixed by Wimbledon in my teenage years, I would get excited about Andrew Castle or Jeremy Bates winning a single round. Now we had a champion; an actual men’s singles champion. He’s won it again since. And reached world No 1. And won the Davis Cup.
All amazing achievements. But nothing will ever top that first time on Centre Court. It was comfortably the most extraordinary event I’ve ever described, made all the more special for knowing the disappointments, debates and devastations that went along the way and made the story.
It’s not quite over yet. His wise decision to pull out of the singles maintains his best chance of a “mic-drop” career-ending moment; namely winning the doubles with brother, Jamie, his family in attendance and the nation grinding to another Murray-related standstill. Risking injury in singles would have ended that possibility.
How lucky we are to have watched someone as talented, as brave, as remarkable as Sir Andy Murray.
How Murray withstood Djokovic and hauled himself through that epic final game I will never know