Even here, with grim reality in attendance and hanging low over his every word, Andy Murray will still keep us guessing.
“I’m likely not going to play past this summer. I get asked about it after every single match that I play, every single tournament that I play. I’m bored of the question, to be honest.”
An eternity of first, second and third round defeats would be manageable, if only he didn’t have to deal with prying eyes and the nonsense that comes with them. If he could keep this all going in a padded room where the noise couldn’t reach him, he would. It would just be him and the game, playing forever with his joy and anger entwined still through it but there’d be silence afterwards and that’s what he’d want. If we could gift wrap him that peace and quiet, we would.
Alas, the world spins on and it drags Murray with it, right the way up to the process of embracing a future he’s held at bay for longer than many thought possible but not nearly as long as he’d have liked. He did outrageous though, didn’t he? Like, wild, crazy things, stamping-the-ground-and-shaking-the-roof sorta’ things, and it’s like we saw it all through his own eyes every time he played. He’d break stuff and scream and bemoan outwardly the fact that he was born to play a sport so well that it would leave him with no other option than to love it to the point that to play it badly would cause him anguish. He’d hate himself, or so it would seem, and we’d feel for him, this little man-child of a player that made us a fan because no other so visibly captured the frustration of the everyday and so viscerally cared to the point that nobody else’s opinion mattered.
This is the exact sort of finish to Murray’s career that we knew we’d get, one filled with scraped-knees and early losses and constant questions. When you’ve retired once before, all people seem to want to know is when you’re going to do so again and Murray’s form of late has only rolled these out and shaped them into the norm. His journey undoubtedly deserved better than people wondering when it would be finished but that, it seems, is the way it is when you’ve hobbled your way past your prime. He seemed OK with it right up until he wasn’t and that is where we’re at now.
Everyone’s going to have their memories of him. Mine will just be the whole packaged deal that we got, the guy who bore the brunt of it and made it all happen his own way without compromise. It was just comforting to know he was out there giving it a go, ranting and raving about something or other and struggling because yes, this thing was hard and he would never try and hide that it was anything other than that. He’d win but he wanted us to know that it really fucking hurt to do so. If we were going to be his fans, we’d have to earn the right by turmoiling through it with him. I’d like to believe that now that we’re closing in on the end, he’ll look back and accept us all for what we were – mad people made mad by his hands alone. You just know he’ll retire with a wee smile on his face knowing he caused us all to age far beyond our years.
He’s so damn annoying though, isn’t he? Causes his own problems. Changes his mind. Says he’s going to call it a day but leaves the door open for a miracle, a lightning bolt, a magician that might just save him. He can’t quite bring himself to shut it down, to definitively say it’s done, here and now. That’s his right but I’ll curse him for it because how the hell am I supposed to prepare for a goodbye when I’m not certain when it’s happening? He’ll drop it on us suddenly this summer at some point, a mumbled “I’m done” as he exits, leaving us all questioning if we heard him right. Then he’ll just never return and we’ll know.
God, I hate him. God, I love him.
***
He’s said before that he didn’t think anyone would come to a farewell ceremony for him, demonstrating a severe lack of awareness of the scale of his impact. People have befriended and loved each other because of you, Andy. We won’t inflict our thanks on you if you don’t want us to but don’t you dare think there’s not thousands waiting to offer them. We’re all still here. We’re all still with you.
What lurks behind the curtain that’s been the backdrop of an entire life? That’s what Murray’s about to find out and maybe that’s what he’s waiting to feel ready for. He’s not there yet. But almost. Very much almost.
It’s worth just trying. That’s what Murray’s career will be remembered for. It’s worth getting up for, even if it kills you, even if it leaves you almost dead or even just about wishing that you were.
It’s worth it.
Popcorn Tennis 
Andy’s like most of us past our prime. We’d like to hope we’re not.
Wonderful piece. Bless Andy’s heart – and yours for caring about him the way you do.
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