Yesterday the roof fell in on a Wimbledon dream. With the best chance in years
of a British player winning the men’s singles, Andy Murray lost 4-6, 6-4,
6-7, 6-7 to Andy Roddick in the semi-finals.
It was a great struggle, with great moments, but in truth it was dominated by
the excellence of Roddick and by the frustration of Murray and the entire
baying, whooping, gasping and swooning collection of Murray fans in Centre
Court.
It has been a great run from Murray, but although he gave us some glorious
moments it was not enough against an opponent whom he normally beats for
fun. Roddick found himself yesterday; Murray was found wanting.
For some, Murray will cease at once to be a Great British Hope and start to be
a Scottish loser. But be careful before you get too scathing: Murray is only
22, only just beginning to find his best tennis, and there is plenty more to
come — in terms of time and, I suspect, in terms of tennis ability and
on-court nous.
It has been a fabulous fortnight, and if it ends in defeat, well, let us
console ourselves by saying that in every Wimbledon singles tournament there
are 127 losers and only one winner. Murray was two good tie-breakers away
the final: but he ran into a player who is a master of the breaker even when
he is not at the peak of his game.
Murray has shown us a glorious array of tennis skills; he is a better player
than Tim Henman, as Henman readily concedes. Murray has a greater range of
shots, more ball skills, more audacity when at the top of his game, and
perhaps a more sincere belief in his right to participate at the sharp end
of a grand-slam tournament.
Murray has given us much to rejoice in: some demonic demolitions of lesser
players, and the unforgettable night match under the brand-new roof, in
which he finished his match round about the time he should have been having
his cocoa. He has brought us great skills and great drama: and as one
sunkissed day followed another, it really seemed that in this blessed
period, a British Wimbledon winner — never mind a mere finalist — was
pre-ordained He would have been the first in 73 years: well, perhaps he will
be the first in 74 years.
There are some who will say that Murray has been overhyped, that we expected
too much from him, that he is not much cop after all. But he is No 3 in the
world, consistently beating all the best players, he made the final of the
US Open, the semis here, and he has the game and the taste for winning big
titles. Those who give up on him now will end up looking silly.
Defeat is a hard thing: a hard thing for Murray, a hard thing for all the
people who had seriously started to believe. But remember that defeat is
part of the routine of a sportsman’s life: it happens to them all, and it is
the way players deal with defeat that separates the champions from the rest.
Murray will take Nietzsche’s view that what doesn’t kill you makes you
stronger.
He is a man of extraordinary will. He has changed his body by an act of will,
not only by maturing, but also by working it into the finest shape it can be
for a tennis player: strong, long and lean, a perfect combination of power
and stamina. His speed across the court is phenomenal, and this from a
player once regarded as being a touch easy-going on the keep-fit side of
things. He has invested his entire personality in the task of winning
grand-slam tennis tournaments and has improved consistently over the past 18
months or so to become stronger, smarter, more filled with certainty.
And so defeat is not a thing that Murray will start to despair about. Athletes
at this level are not like the rest of us. He will use yesterday’s events
for motivation, for learning. He will endeavour to see this as a useful,
even essential, experience.
Murray is a work in progress. “I believe I can win a grand-slam. I’m going to
give myself chances,” he said. We who do the watcing can wail and gnash our
teeth, but for Murray it’s back to to the practice courts and the gym. He is
now beginning his preparation for the US Open in the late summer. He fancies
his chances there, and he’s not alone.
It is little acknowledged, but your opponent is allowed to play well. You
haven’t failed a test of character when you come across an opponent who
starts playing like God. Yesterday Roddick managed to find his very best
tennis — the best he has played for years. He was unrecognisable from the
nearly-but-not-quitter of recent seasons. He was consistently serving in the
high 130s mph, with his second serve better than most people’s first.
But it was his shudderingly powerful ground strokes that rocked Murray back on
his heels again and again. He played with great aggression, and that made
for a profound difference in styles. Roddick went out blasting for the
lines, and was consistently hitting them. He also changed his usual style
and constantly came in to volley, a dashing throwback of a ploy that Murray
struggled with.
There was no question of a failing in character: but, as you would expect,
there was certainly a revelation of character. Murray’s default mode is as a
counter-puncher: he loves best to lure an opponent into his web and draw out
the error with touch and craft. At its best, this is gloriously effective;
at worst, Murray becomes passive, surrendering the initiative and conspiring
in his own demise.
The problem with being a counter-puncher is that the strategy rather depends
on your opponent not landing too many blows: and Roddick gained his edge
with a series of haymakers, especially from the net. Roddick loves to hurry:
his movements jerky, to move from one point to the next at breakneck speed.
In his best patches, he was overwhelming, face lit up with his delight in a
level of play he must have thought has gone for good.
Murray finds his own best tennis by means of fury. He is finest when he is in
a frenzy. He is glorious to behold when he plays in a berserker rage. When
he is in control of a match, he can be finicky, prone to virtuoso flicks and
dinks. But when things get desperate, he covers himself with woad and comes
out a-roaring.
When Murray talks, he mutters his dry-as-dust witticisms with lips that
scarcely move. He is better at roaring than talking: it is when he roars
that we see the real Murray. He puts so much into his roar that it is a
wonder he doesn’t dislocate his jaw. It’s his lion-rampant face.
This roaring tennis is not a thing you can call up at will: it’s a special
thing that happens to him, at his best, when times are hardest. And that’s
the secret of winning championships: to play your best tennis when you need
it most. Murray needed it all right after he had lost the first set. Roddick
had consistently had the edge, fazing Murray with his aggression.
Murray came into the second set ready to start roaring, and he dived into
Roddick’s feared serve with sudden ferocious intent. This majestic ability
to raise your game, to find these purple patches, to get your opponent
reeling and to scramble his brain with an explosion of pure brilliance: that
is something that all the great players can do, in their different ways.
Murray does it by roaring and this was the way he got back into the match.
There was a second roaring period in the third set, as Murray came back from a
break down to draw level. But as we went into the tie-breaker, Murray had a
chance and so did Roddick. Roddick was the one who did the taking. As
simple, or as complicated as that. Just a fag paper between them, just a
point here and point there: but it’s the difference between winning a set
and losing it.
The fourth followed the same pattern. The terrible truth was not that Murray
was failing but that Roddick was just that little bit too good.
