Retirement has been begging to take Andy Murray for a while. It’s been there at his bedside, metal hip implanted, hobbling with him along baselines as he measured himself against the realistic and tried to imagine himself capable of more. It just about took him out completely, removing him from the game for extended periods, hammering him with injuries that it felt was only deserved due to the sheer physicality of the game Murray insisted on playing for years. It allowed him to reach number 1 and win multiple majors before coming for him, this was a fair debt to inflict on one so committed to ruining his body chasing only childish desires won by playing games.
Indeed, Murray is a big child at heart, the kind that irritates and moans and sits down and doesn’t move, demanding ridiculous things at late hours of the night when he’s supposed to be asleep. His refusal to shift and accept the signs over the last few years that underpinned many of his wins almost proved too much for neutrals that demanded he leave if he no longer could. The things we love delusion us and surely this was a simple case of Murray being unable to see past where he now was?
He’s always been the most realistic of players in frankly unbelievable ways. His wife Kim said in his 2019 documentary Resurfacing that he was really genuinely done with the sport and ready to step away before he “changed his mind.” Such a normal thing to do, magnified on the front pages of world sport. His indecision has played with him over the years since then, as the questions mounted amidst mixed results that were deemed beneath a player that was simply no longer there. The measuring stick of a prime Murray overshadowed everything that he did and his past success must have been frustrating for him at times, as he battled to try and claw back consistency that was never coming. Achieving impossible things on the regular is hard, only bested by having to accept that you no longer can.
Tennis is a game of absolutes and Murray’s flexible attitude about his end irked some that wished they could inflict their opinions on a man that simply didn’t care what people thought of his personal career decisions. Murray is built from the tears of those that doubted he could, constructed in ways that juniors today look to replicate in any slight ways they can, inspired by witnessing a willingness to put everything but his own sense of what is right and just in this world aside in pursuit of getting better. It’s because of this, because of Murray’s character forged in the judgement of others, that he ultimately couldn’t care less what people thought of him, at least not outwardly.
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All of this leads us to now, last night, and the 10 minutes or so that saw retirement crawl its way down through the Olympic rings in the stands of the French capital to once more breath fire above the head of Murray. 5 match points to kill a career of resilient exhaustion. Olympic champ, Olympic death. Murray and his doubles partner Dan Evans were behind right up until it really fucking mattered that they were behind, losing no point that they couldn’t afford to lose as they clambered back into a championship tiebreak that had raced away from them until just a step before completion. From 4-9 down, they would lose no further point, as I was steadily brought from my slumped stupor of devastation, up to a hunched figure of wonder, up further still to a complete loss of all bodily senses as tears fell in response to a career still breathing. Life-supported into a win. Defeated until they weren’t.
Murray couldn’t believe it, shaking his head as he screamed in giddiness. Retirement – the most human of things that can happen to a professional tennis player – could only bow and be stilled, biting back flames beaten for yet another few days. When it does take Murray, it’ll be its most prized of wins, and it’ll undoubtedly shake its head at the work it had to do to get him. Evans – a player with his own story – seemed hardly able to process the moment, laughing deliriously that he got to play such a significant part in the slow and steady last sunset of Murray. And what a credit he was, for this show of Murray was a duet of madness that needs to be signed by both participants to happen. Murray will get the headlines and Evans will be fine with that but my god, this whole thing was won through messy patchiness of form from both that just about managed to save them.
This is what Murray does, he makes those that surround him motivated to lift him if he needs it. People want to play a part in helping him. That means us too, every single one of you reading this that counts yourselves as a fan, you know what I mean, don’t you? You’ve felt that pull, that desperate drag on your heart, that wild thought process that you might just be willing to give it all up if it meant Murray could have just this very next win. You’d ask for nothing else if he could take just this very next point. You care desperately for him. We all do. Alone at the top of British tennis for so long, it is unbelievably fitting that Murray plays his final tournament surrounded by a team of players that he has directly helped influence and of course he wins his first round saving points of finality because, well, of course. Even at his funeral, he must live. In the madness, it makes sense. Outrageous only in that it just fits so well. Laughable perfection.
It is the most Murray-ish of Murray way to do things. Stubborn to the point of annoyance, he’d dragged his feet coming to the conclusion that yes, this was his time to go. Making peace with it, acknowledging that he’s happy to accept this as being his final tournament, waved off by all at Wimbledon. It pleases me oh-so fucking greatly to know how much his extended goodbye has irritated those that don’t really matter. This isn’t the time to focus on the bitter few and yet, I do revel in the disappointment of those that have long revelled in his. Pleasure in the misery of others is still pleasure, let me tell you.
I said in the first few paragraphs of this article that achieving impossible things on the regular is hard. Murray made doing that look like exactly that, like it just about killed him to do so. I think he always wanted us to know how frankly ludicrous what he was doing truly was. It makes that moment last night that much more remarkable. Having done all that we ever really asked of him, he deserved a comfortable loss. But nothing about Murray is comfortable and so we just about came to terms with a desperate almost as a sort of tribute to his best years. But what we are ultimately left with is at least another day of him. He asks us to accept this week as his finish but gives us a win that ultimately must break our hearts because it really will be one of his last. One more memory to miss him with. He’s such a beautiful idiot.
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I awoke yesterday morning not knowing my adult life without Andy Murray as an active professional tennis player. Sitting here, right here, right now, somehow, someway, having risen on yet another morning, I STILL do not know my adult life without Andy Murray as an active professional tennis player.
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Popcorn Tennis 
What a brilliant piece Scott.
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