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News Articles

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Ruthie
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Touch the sky - and touch it he did.

Re: News Articles « Reply #5520 on: March 29, 2013, 01:13 PM »
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It is a laugh but it is written by a self-confessed fan so let's cut him abit of slack eh.  He isn't actually writing about a mid-life crisis so it's the subeditor (who can't spell) who should get the rap for that  Rolling Eyes
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tamila
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5521 on: March 29, 2013, 02:09 PM »
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Has anyone else seen the ridiculous headline by the Telegraph ' I am living on the edge of injury and illness'  referring to Andy.
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Ruthie
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Touch the sky - and touch it he did.

Re: News Articles « Reply #5522 on: March 29, 2013, 04:20 PM »
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oh probably the same subeditor just doing it for dramatic effect
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5523 on: March 29, 2013, 06:58 PM »
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It is a laugh but it is written by a self-confessed fan so let's cut him abit of slack eh.  He isn't actually writing about a mid-life crisis so it's the subeditor (who can't spell) who should get the rap for that  Rolling Eyes
When I started reading it I thought it was being a bit sarky, but then as I kept going, I came to the conclusion it was deliberately tongue in cheek and taking the mickey out of the author more than anything.  Taking credit for Andy's US Open win was the main thing that swayed it for me. Very Happy
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5524 on: March 29, 2013, 10:40 PM »
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Does someone have a subscription for this?

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Eddster
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5525 on: March 30, 2013, 01:48 AM »
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Yes Smile



The grand slam winner’s most revealing interview yet. By Matthew Syed

It is curious to think that Andy Murray’s life turned around in a lavatory. The date was September 10, 2012, and night was closing in. The Scot had just been pegged back to two sets all in the US Open final at Flushing Meadows and, as he walked to the cubicle just by the player’s entrance to the Arthur Ashe stadium, he could hear the hubbub of 23,000 spectators wondering if he had squandered his chance.

Spread-betting markets around the world had already reached their conclusion. Murray was strong favourite when he raced into a two-set lead against the mighty Novak Djokovic and it seemed British sport was on the cusp of finally obliterating its grand-slam jinx. But the easy fluency of his game had ebbed away under the assault of the Serbian and he looked pale and unsteady as he strode out of the stadium. To one observer it looked like the walk of a condemned man. Djokovic was odds on.

“It had got to me,” Murray says when we meet at the Queen’s Club in West London, where he’ll be competing in the Aegon Championships in June. “I had spent the past five years being asked whether I would ever win a grand slam. I knew this was not just about sport, but about the entire country. People used to say that our failure to produce a grand-slam winner said something about our lack of toughness as a nation, and things like that. I pretended that I was above it all, that I wasn’t that bothered about history. But it was beginning to affect me.

“I had played in four grand-slam finals before playing Novak in New York and had only won one set. Wherever I walked, I walked with hunched shoulders and with my head down. I think in my own mind I had bought the idea that I was not a real winner until I had won a grand slam. It’s strange to think that my stance, the way I carried myself, was affected. I was very negative in my own mind at the end of the fourth set at the US Open. My self-belief was pretty low.”

2012 had been a bittersweet season until that point for Murray. He had changed coaches to Ivan Lendl, a rather austere Czech-born former champion, at the turn of the year, hoping for the catalyst that might end the long wait. The two men had gelled rather better than observers had predicted, revelling in each other’s off-court mischievousness. But both knew that there was only one serious objective: to win a grand slam.

Murray’s victory at the Olympics in August had been a triumph, but not the ultimate goal. In many ways, it added to the burden. “If you can win the Olympics, why not a grand slam?” people asked. Murray knew that his career, perhaps his life, would always be viewed through the prism of his performances on the biggest stage of all. Hence the demons as he stood alone in front of the mirror in the lavatory and saw his dark eyes staring back in the mirror, strained and unsteady.

“When you walk out of the stadium there is a cubicle on the right-hand side,” Murray says. “It is small, not much more than a toilet, a sink and a mirror. I was thinking: ‘Why do I keep losing these finals? Do I lack something? How on earth did I squander a two-set lead?’ It is easy to get into a train of bad thoughts, particularly when an opponent is coming back at you. I could not go back onto the court feeling like that. I would have lost the deciding set before the first ball was hit.”

And so Murray did something he had never done before: he gave himself a pep talk. “I never talk to myself. Not out loud. You would never catch me walking around the house and actually saying things to myself. Isn’t that supposed to be the first sign of madness? That is why that toilet break was so unusual. I stood in front of the mirror with sweat dripping down my face and I knew I had to change what was going on inside. I had a drink, a change of T-shirt and a banana with me, but they didn’t really matter. I had to get a grip of my mind. So I started talking. Out loud.

“‘You are not losing this match,’ I said to myself. ‘You are NOT losing this match.’ I started out a little tentative, but my voice got louder. ‘You are not going to let this one slip. You are NOT going to let this slip. This is your time. You have never been closer than this to a grand slam. Give it everything you’ve got. Leave nothing out there.’ At first, it felt a bit weird, but I felt something change inside. I was surprised by my response. I knew I could win.”

Perhaps it is only with the benefit of hindsight that Murray’s walk back to the court seems different. His eyes were steelier, more focused, his body language more assured. Djokovic, who had also taken a toilet break, came back 30 seconds later, a white towel draped around his shoulders. Murray strode to the back of the court, glanced at his support team, and stretched out his hamstrings. He started talking to himself once again and slammed his fist into the strings of his racket.

He broke in the very first game and raced into a three-game lead. “I suppose people might say that I am exaggerating the importance of that toilet break,” Murray says. “I got a net cord in the opening game and it is possible that things might have worked out differently if it had not crept over the net. But I can only tell you how it felt. I walked into that break weighed down. The mind is so important in top level sport, where the difference between winning and losing is so tiny. When I came out, it was totally different.”

The celebration, when it came, was less emotional than the American audience was hoping for. Murray crouched down, hunched on his knees, seemingly shell-shocked. Seventy-six years were compressed into one moment of vindication. Murray found it difficult to take it in. There was a panic during the prize ceremony when he had to look for his watch: his sponsorship deal with Rado required him to wear the time-piece during presentations. And then it was off to Hakkasan New York, for a celebration with his team. The wait had finally ended.

“I didn’t drink any alcohol that night, and I wasn’t bouncing off the walls,” Murray says. “I just watched the team around me and tried to take it all in. I lay in bed wide awake pretty much all night. I slept for no more than 45 minutes, but I wasn’t even slightly tired. It wasn’t until the next day on the flight home that I finally fell asleep, but I needed a few glasses of champagne. It kept running through my mind: ‘I have done it. I have done it.’”

Six months on, Murray walks with his head held high. He is 25 and has a reported net worth of around £30 million. He lives in Surrey, with Kim Sears, his long-term girlfriend. He spends his time off on PlayStation and playing with his two Border terriers, Rusty and Maggie May. “When I got back from the Australian Open, I was just so pumped to be home with the dogs,” Murray said last year. “I get up every morning at 7am to take them for a walk.”

Most of his time is spent on the road: Monaco, Melbourne, New York, Paris. It is an exacting life, not least because of the long shadow cast by his rivals. Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he knows that there are three men in other parts of the world attempting to gain an edge over him: Djokovic, Rafael Nadal and the sublime Roger Federer. “If you miss training, or take it easy in terms of your physical conditioning, you know that you are losing out,” he says. “The bar just keeps getting higher. We all have brilliant teams around us working on every aspect of our games: diet, technique, tactics, endurance, and so on. It is probably the strongest era in the history of men’s tennis. You could say that I am unlucky to be up against such an incredible group of players. But you could also regard it as an extraordinary privilege.”

Murray’s relationship with the British public has always been complex. A joke during a teenage interview in response to a question about football – “Anyone but England” – acted like an invisible barrier between player and fans. Many disliked his petulance as a youngster, too, and did not reassess their view when he began to exert more self-control. Things began to change after his defeat to Roger Federer in the final at Wimbledon. The Scot, standing alone in the flashbulb light of Centre Court, gave a glimpse of his emotional vulnerability. Voice trembling, and with Sears raising her hand to her mouth in the stands, he wept. It was a powerful, revelatory moment.

“People think that I am unemotional because my voice is flat and a bit boring,” he says. “It is unfortunate, but it is just the way it is. No matter how happy or sad I am, it sounds as if I am not bothered. I have tried to change it, but it doesn’t seem to make a great difference. The truth is that I have lots of emotions inside. I cried after the semi-final at Wimbledon because I was proud to reach the final and I knew how much it meant to the country. I cried after the final, too, for different reasons. I felt I had let people down. I think people warmed to that. They could see how much it hurt.”

At the Times photoshoot, Murray grins as oil is sprayed and rubbed onto his chest – and he is teased mercilessly by his friend Rob. It is unthinkable that Murray would have been so relaxed even 12 months ago. It’s unthinkable, too, that he would have been prepared to pose like this for such a stylised shoot. His guardedness seems to have dissipated, replaced by elements of his personality familiar to friends and family. He is mischievous and disarmingly direct. And the more the public sees through the previously prickly exterior, the more we are learning to like him.

We are also learning to admire another aspect of Murray’s persona: his single-mindedness. The obsession with image, so familiar with many athletes, is conspicuous by its absence with him. When he was shortlisted for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards in December, he was expected to attend the televised ceremony. Instead, he stayed in Florida to work on his endurance. It could have been a PR disaster, but, in the event, the public were impressed. After all, isn’t that the way sportspeople are supposed to be?

Many see the hallmarks of Judy, his mother, in Murray’s resoluteness. Judy was a top player in Scotland and imbued a strong competitive instinct in Andy and in his older brother, Jamie. She taxied them to training and encouraged Andy to travel alone to Spain as a 15-year-old to turbo-charge his development. Like Murray, Judy has a complex relationship with the British public. Many see her as interfering and pushy. Murray just sees a loving and gracious mother. “She is amazing,” he says. “I could not have achieved anything without her support.”

 I ask him if he finds it easy to express his emotions to those he loves. “Funnily enough, I find it OK around my mum and girlfriend. That was one of the best things about winning the US Open. It gave me a chance to sit down with both of them and explain how grateful I am for everything they have done. But I find it much more difficult to show my emotions around men. I don’t know why. I want to let them know how much they mean to me, and how much I appreciate all the help they have given me, but it is difficult. I try to compensate by putting everything into my tennis. I want to show them how much they mean by winning.”

I ask if he is talking primarily about his father, Will, who separated from his mother when Murray was 9. “Yes, I guess so. Because my mum’s around a lot at competitions people tend to focus on her. They don’t see my dad as much, but that doesn’t mean he is not a big part of my life. He has always been there, supporting me whenever I have needed it. And that is part of my motivation. Some people are motivated by money, others by winning tournaments, and others by creating history. But I think a lot of my drive comes from wanting to repay those close to me. It is a nice feeling to win and know that loved ones are made up because of it.”

It has been a remarkable journey from Dunblane, the small town in Scotland that made headlines when Thomas Hamilton, a local scoutmaster, walked into the school’s gym and shot dead 16 children and one teacher. Murray, then aged 8, and his schoolmates were walking towards the gym at the time, but were ushered to the headmaster’s study where they waited for two hours. Murray, who still struggles to talk about the incident, takes great pride in his association with the town. After he won the US Open, more than 15,000 people (double the population) lined the streets to welcome him home, waving flags, mainly the St Andrew’s Cross.

Perhaps surprisingly, Murray does not have strong views on Scottish independence. “You need to figure out what’s best for the country and then come to an opinion,” he says. “I want to read more about the issue. I don’t think you should judge the thing on emotion, but on what is best economically for Scotland. You don’t want to come to a snap decision and then see the country go tits up. I am proud to be Scottish, but I am also proud to be British. I don’t think there is any contradiction in that.”

The remainder of the season will be intriguing. Murray made yet another grand slam final in January, losing to Novak Djokovic in a four-setter at the Australian Open, but lost in the quarter-finals of Indian Wells in March to Juan Martin Del Potro. Wimbledon looms in the summer, and then the defence of his US Open title in September. He is stronger, wiser and more at ease with himself than ever before. But perhaps that is because he knows that the British public are more at ease with him, too.

His values are centred on hard work and dedication, and he is humble enough to acknowledge that his success would have been impossible without the love of those around him. His parents, and the rest of the nation, should be proud.
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Eddster
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5526 on: March 30, 2013, 01:48 AM »
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Havnt even read it yet lol but thought I'd post it anyway
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TheMadHatter
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5527 on: March 30, 2013, 01:51 AM »
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Wow that's huge. Think I'll give it a read tomorrow. Thanks for posting it up.
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xxdanixx
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5528 on: March 30, 2013, 01:52 AM »
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Thanks SO much Eddster,was really hoping someone on here would be able to help us out with that,as I've been really wanting to read it.Really appreciate it hug
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Eddster
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5529 on: March 30, 2013, 02:05 AM »
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No worries, it's a good read Smile Enjoy and bring on Daveeed  Little tongue man
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xxdanixx
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5530 on: March 30, 2013, 02:06 AM »
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Oh,just read the whole thing through now-what a wonderful,wonderful interview-and what a wonderful guy Andy is!

I thought this was incredible-I know he's talked a bit about the bathroom break before,but to read about it in such detail,to really have him be open about what was going through his mind,was fascinating for me.


“When you walk out of the stadium there is a cubicle on the right-hand side,” Murray says. “It is small, not much more than a toilet, a sink and a mirror. I was thinking: ‘Why do I keep losing these finals? Do I lack something? How on earth did I squander a two-set lead?’ It is easy to get into a train of bad thoughts, particularly when an opponent is coming back at you. I could not go back onto the court feeling like that. I would have lost the deciding set before the first ball was hit.”

And so Murray did something he had never done before: he gave himself a pep talk. “I never talk to myself. Not out loud. You would never catch me walking around the house and actually saying things to myself. Isn’t that supposed to be the first sign of madness? That is why that toilet break was so unusual. I stood in front of the mirror with sweat dripping down my face and I knew I had to change what was going on inside. I had a drink, a change of T-shirt and a banana with me, but they didn’t really matter. I had to get a grip of my mind. So I started talking. Out loud.

“‘You are not losing this match,’ I said to myself. ‘You are NOT losing this match.’ I started out a little tentative, but my voice got louder. ‘You are not going to let this one slip. You are NOT going to let this slip. This is your time. You have never been closer than this to a grand slam. Give it everything you’ve got. Leave nothing out there.’ At first, it felt a bit weird, but I felt something change inside. I was surprised by my response. I knew I could win.”

To hear about how affected he was by the weight of that drought-I mean,we knew it anyway,to a degree,but to think it even affected how he walked.I knew it anyway,but reading this made me admire how strong,and brave Andy is all over again.

“People think that I am unemotional because my voice is flat and a bit boring,” he says. “It is unfortunate, but it is just the way it is. No matter how happy or sad I am, it sounds as if I am not bothered. I have tried to change it, but it doesn’t seem to make a great difference. The truth is that I have lots of emotions inside. I cried after the semi-final at Wimbledon because I was proud to reach the final and I knew how much it meant to the country. I cried after the final, too, for different reasons. I felt I had let people down. I think people warmed to that. They could see how much it hurt.”

I ask him if he finds it easy to express his emotions to those he loves. “Funnily enough, I find it OK around my mum and girlfriend. That was one of the best things about winning the US Open. It gave me a chance to sit down with both of them and explain how grateful I am for everything they have done. But I find it much more difficult to show my emotions around men. I don’t know why. I want to let them know how much they mean to me, and how much I appreciate all the help they have given me, but it is difficult. I try to compensate by putting everything into my tennis. I want to show them how much they mean by winning.”

I ask if he is talking primarily about his father, Will, who separated from his mother when Murray was 9. “Yes, I guess so. Because my mum’s around a lot at competitions people tend to focus on her. They don’t see my dad as much, but that doesn’t mean he is not a big part of my life. He has always been there, supporting me whenever I have needed it. And that is part of my motivation. Some people are motivated by money, others by winning tournaments, and others by creating history. But I think a lot of my drive comes from wanting to repay those close to me. It is a nice feeling to win and know that loved ones are made up because of it.”

Those made me 

Thanks again Eddster!
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Sabine
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5531 on: March 30, 2013, 03:43 AM »
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Yes Smile



The grand slam winner’s most revealing interview yet. By Matthew Syed

It is curious to think that Andy Murray’s life turned around in a lavatory. The date was September 10, 2012, and night was closing in. The Scot had just been pegged back to two sets all in the US Open final at Flushing Meadows and, as he walked to the cubicle just by the player’s entrance to the Arthur Ashe stadium, he could hear the hubbub of 23,000 spectators wondering if he had squandered his chance.

Spread-betting markets around the world had already reached their conclusion. Murray was strong favourite when he raced into a two-set lead against the mighty Novak Djokovic and it seemed British sport was on the cusp of finally obliterating its grand-slam jinx. But the easy fluency of his game had ebbed away under the assault of the Serbian and he looked pale and unsteady as he strode out of the stadium. To one observer it looked like the walk of a condemned man. Djokovic was odds on.

“It had got to me,” Murray says when we meet at the Queen’s Club in West London, where he’ll be competing in the Aegon Championships in June. “I had spent the past five years being asked whether I would ever win a grand slam. I knew this was not just about sport, but about the entire country. People used to say that our failure to produce a grand-slam winner said something about our lack of toughness as a nation, and things like that. I pretended that I was above it all, that I wasn’t that bothered about history. But it was beginning to affect me.

“I had played in four grand-slam finals before playing Novak in New York and had only won one set. Wherever I walked, I walked with hunched shoulders and with my head down. I think in my own mind I had bought the idea that I was not a real winner until I had won a grand slam. It’s strange to think that my stance, the way I carried myself, was affected. I was very negative in my own mind at the end of the fourth set at the US Open. My self-belief was pretty low.”

2012 had been a bittersweet season until that point for Murray. He had changed coaches to Ivan Lendl, a rather austere Czech-born former champion, at the turn of the year, hoping for the catalyst that might end the long wait. The two men had gelled rather better than observers had predicted, revelling in each other’s off-court mischievousness. But both knew that there was only one serious objective: to win a grand slam.

Murray’s victory at the Olympics in August had been a triumph, but not the ultimate goal. In many ways, it added to the burden. “If you can win the Olympics, why not a grand slam?” people asked. Murray knew that his career, perhaps his life, would always be viewed through the prism of his performances on the biggest stage of all. Hence the demons as he stood alone in front of the mirror in the lavatory and saw his dark eyes staring back in the mirror, strained and unsteady.

“When you walk out of the stadium there is a cubicle on the right-hand side,” Murray says. “It is small, not much more than a toilet, a sink and a mirror. I was thinking: ‘Why do I keep losing these finals? Do I lack something? How on earth did I squander a two-set lead?’ It is easy to get into a train of bad thoughts, particularly when an opponent is coming back at you. I could not go back onto the court feeling like that. I would have lost the deciding set before the first ball was hit.”

And so Murray did something he had never done before: he gave himself a pep talk. “I never talk to myself. Not out loud. You would never catch me walking around the house and actually saying things to myself. Isn’t that supposed to be the first sign of madness? That is why that toilet break was so unusual. I stood in front of the mirror with sweat dripping down my face and I knew I had to change what was going on inside. I had a drink, a change of T-shirt and a banana with me, but they didn’t really matter. I had to get a grip of my mind. So I started talking. Out loud.

“‘You are not losing this match,’ I said to myself. ‘You are NOT losing this match.’ I started out a little tentative, but my voice got louder. ‘You are not going to let this one slip. You are NOT going to let this slip. This is your time. You have never been closer than this to a grand slam. Give it everything you’ve got. Leave nothing out there.’ At first, it felt a bit weird, but I felt something change inside. I was surprised by my response. I knew I could win.”

Perhaps it is only with the benefit of hindsight that Murray’s walk back to the court seems different. His eyes were steelier, more focused, his body language more assured. Djokovic, who had also taken a toilet break, came back 30 seconds later, a white towel draped around his shoulders. Murray strode to the back of the court, glanced at his support team, and stretched out his hamstrings. He started talking to himself once again and slammed his fist into the strings of his racket.

He broke in the very first game and raced into a three-game lead. “I suppose people might say that I am exaggerating the importance of that toilet break,” Murray says. “I got a net cord in the opening game and it is possible that things might have worked out differently if it had not crept over the net. But I can only tell you how it felt. I walked into that break weighed down. The mind is so important in top level sport, where the difference between winning and losing is so tiny. When I came out, it was totally different.”

The celebration, when it came, was less emotional than the American audience was hoping for. Murray crouched down, hunched on his knees, seemingly shell-shocked. Seventy-six years were compressed into one moment of vindication. Murray found it difficult to take it in. There was a panic during the prize ceremony when he had to look for his watch: his sponsorship deal with Rado required him to wear the time-piece during presentations. And then it was off to Hakkasan New York, for a celebration with his team. The wait had finally ended.

“I didn’t drink any alcohol that night, and I wasn’t bouncing off the walls,” Murray says. “I just watched the team around me and tried to take it all in. I lay in bed wide awake pretty much all night. I slept for no more than 45 minutes, but I wasn’t even slightly tired. It wasn’t until the next day on the flight home that I finally fell asleep, but I needed a few glasses of champagne. It kept running through my mind: ‘I have done it. I have done it.’”

Six months on, Murray walks with his head held high. He is 25 and has a reported net worth of around £30 million. He lives in Surrey, with Kim Sears, his long-term girlfriend. He spends his time off on PlayStation and playing with his two Border terriers, Rusty and Maggie May. “When I got back from the Australian Open, I was just so pumped to be home with the dogs,” Murray said last year. “I get up every morning at 7am to take them for a walk.”

Most of his time is spent on the road: Monaco, Melbourne, New York, Paris. It is an exacting life, not least because of the long shadow cast by his rivals. Wherever he goes, whatever he does, he knows that there are three men in other parts of the world attempting to gain an edge over him: Djokovic, Rafael Nadal and the sublime Roger Federer. “If you miss training, or take it easy in terms of your physical conditioning, you know that you are losing out,” he says. “The bar just keeps getting higher. We all have brilliant teams around us working on every aspect of our games: diet, technique, tactics, endurance, and so on. It is probably the strongest era in the history of men’s tennis. You could say that I am unlucky to be up against such an incredible group of players. But you could also regard it as an extraordinary privilege.”

Murray’s relationship with the British public has always been complex. A joke during a teenage interview in response to a question about football – “Anyone but England” – acted like an invisible barrier between player and fans. Many disliked his petulance as a youngster, too, and did not reassess their view when he began to exert more self-control. Things began to change after his defeat to Roger Federer in the final at Wimbledon. The Scot, standing alone in the flashbulb light of Centre Court, gave a glimpse of his emotional vulnerability. Voice trembling, and with Sears raising her hand to her mouth in the stands, he wept. It was a powerful, revelatory moment.

“People think that I am unemotional because my voice is flat and a bit boring,” he says. “It is unfortunate, but it is just the way it is. No matter how happy or sad I am, it sounds as if I am not bothered. I have tried to change it, but it doesn’t seem to make a great difference. The truth is that I have lots of emotions inside. I cried after the semi-final at Wimbledon because I was proud to reach the final and I knew how much it meant to the country. I cried after the final, too, for different reasons. I felt I had let people down. I think people warmed to that. They could see how much it hurt.”

At the Times photoshoot, Murray grins as oil is sprayed and rubbed onto his chest – and he is teased mercilessly by his friend Rob. It is unthinkable that Murray would have been so relaxed even 12 months ago. It’s unthinkable, too, that he would have been prepared to pose like this for such a stylised shoot. His guardedness seems to have dissipated, replaced by elements of his personality familiar to friends and family. He is mischievous and disarmingly direct. And the more the public sees through the previously prickly exterior, the more we are learning to like him.

We are also learning to admire another aspect of Murray’s persona: his single-mindedness. The obsession with image, so familiar with many athletes, is conspicuous by its absence with him. When he was shortlisted for the BBC Sports Personality of the Year awards in December, he was expected to attend the televised ceremony. Instead, he stayed in Florida to work on his endurance. It could have been a PR disaster, but, in the event, the public were impressed. After all, isn’t that the way sportspeople are supposed to be?

Many see the hallmarks of Judy, his mother, in Murray’s resoluteness. Judy was a top player in Scotland and imbued a strong competitive instinct in Andy and in his older brother, Jamie. She taxied them to training and encouraged Andy to travel alone to Spain as a 15-year-old to turbo-charge his development. Like Murray, Judy has a complex relationship with the British public. Many see her as interfering and pushy. Murray just sees a loving and gracious mother. “She is amazing,” he says. “I could not have achieved anything without her support.”

 I ask him if he finds it easy to express his emotions to those he loves. “Funnily enough, I find it OK around my mum and girlfriend. That was one of the best things about winning the US Open. It gave me a chance to sit down with both of them and explain how grateful I am for everything they have done. But I find it much more difficult to show my emotions around men. I don’t know why. I want to let them know how much they mean to me, and how much I appreciate all the help they have given me, but it is difficult. I try to compensate by putting everything into my tennis. I want to show them how much they mean by winning.”

I ask if he is talking primarily about his father, Will, who separated from his mother when Murray was 9. “Yes, I guess so. Because my mum’s around a lot at competitions people tend to focus on her. They don’t see my dad as much, but that doesn’t mean he is not a big part of my life. He has always been there, supporting me whenever I have needed it. And that is part of my motivation. Some people are motivated by money, others by winning tournaments, and others by creating history. But I think a lot of my drive comes from wanting to repay those close to me. It is a nice feeling to win and know that loved ones are made up because of it.”

It has been a remarkable journey from Dunblane, the small town in Scotland that made headlines when Thomas Hamilton, a local scoutmaster, walked into the school’s gym and shot dead 16 children and one teacher. Murray, then aged 8, and his schoolmates were walking towards the gym at the time, but were ushered to the headmaster’s study where they waited for two hours. Murray, who still struggles to talk about the incident, takes great pride in his association with the town. After he won the US Open, more than 15,000 people (double the population) lined the streets to welcome him home, waving flags, mainly the St Andrew’s Cross.

Perhaps surprisingly, Murray does not have strong views on Scottish independence. “You need to figure out what’s best for the country and then come to an opinion,” he says. “I want to read more about the issue. I don’t think you should judge the thing on emotion, but on what is best economically for Scotland. You don’t want to come to a snap decision and then see the country go tits up. I am proud to be Scottish, but I am also proud to be British. I don’t think there is any contradiction in that.”

The remainder of the season will be intriguing. Murray made yet another grand slam final in January, losing to Novak Djokovic in a four-setter at the Australian Open, but lost in the quarter-finals of Indian Wells in March to Juan Martin Del Potro. Wimbledon looms in the summer, and then the defence of his US Open title in September. He is stronger, wiser and more at ease with himself than ever before. But perhaps that is because he knows that the British public are more at ease with him, too.

His values are centred on hard work and dedication, and he is humble enough to acknowledge that his success would have been impossible without the love of those around him. His parents, and the rest of the nation, should be proud.

No words for this.....just amazing stuff to make me cry...

Thank you so much for posting Eddster. hug
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silver lining
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5532 on: March 30, 2013, 03:50 AM »
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Thanks a lot Eddster!!!
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Masaka
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5533 on: March 30, 2013, 09:26 AM »
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Did somebody mention that there is a programme about Murray on Sky this Easter, or am I making things up again? If so any times?
Thanks
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wimbledonwestie
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Re: News Articles « Reply #5534 on: March 30, 2013, 09:42 AM »
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What a fantastic article  - everyone in the country should be made to read it before Wimbledon time. maybe then he'd get the support he so deserves. cmonandy
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