Цитатник Англофила по выходным - 27: могут ли англичане полюбить теннисиста Энди Маррея?
Титаническая борьба между Роджером Федерером и Рафаэлем Надалем в финале Уимблдона прервана в третьем сете из-за дождя. Пожалуй, использую этот перерыв, чтобы вернуться - естественно, в англофильском контексте - к теннисно-уимблдонской теме - на этот раз в рамках моей цитатной рубрики. Мои френды-ветераны, возможно, вспомнят текст трехлетней давности "Уимблдон или мания обожания лузеров" (годом позже перепечатанный в питерской общефедеральной газете "Спорт: день за днем" - с некоторыми изменениями и дополнениями - увы, сохранился - после ввода их нового сайта - только в кэше).
Увы, большими теннисными победами британские теннисисты своих болельщиков по-прежнему не радуют - точнее, радуют в том же духе, что был подробно описан в том давнем моем тексте. И потому - as ever - вместо смакования положительных победных эмоций на первом плане в прессе все та же тема - взаимоотношений публики с местными теннисными кумирами.
Кумиры - все те же. Правда, Тим Хенмэн уже не мучает своих болельщиков (т.е. всю нацию) на корте - он теперь работает телекомментатором (вот и прямо сейчас он на пару с Борисом Беккером разбирает на BBC эпизоды проходящего финала). Но пресса не оставляет его своим вниманием и в его новом качестве. И претензии к нему все те же: да, он человек культурный и профессиональный, но слишком уж благовоспитанный и правильный. Таким он был на корте - и Уимблдона не выиграл. Таков и в телестудии - и тоже не способен выиграть сердца телезрителей. Ибо скучен. В отличие, скажем, от Макинроя и Беккера, которые и теннисистами были с большими игровыми и поведенческими закидонами, и комментаторы такие же. За что и любимы. Для иллюстрации процитирую отрывок из статьи обозревателя Daily Telegraph с характерным названием "Tim Henman's verbal volleys lack fizz":
The faults in his play have been exposed. Chiefly, his timidity. And his niceness: niceness never works, except in care homes... we admired his game's neatness, efficiency, prettiness. But he never produced the monstrous snorting forehand, fizzing with power and spin that has you squawking something blasphemous in sheer wonder. Which is why Henman's verbal volleys and brief rallies barely dribble over the net.
Но основное внимание, конечно же, было уделено тому, кто подхватил выпавшее из рук Хенмэна теннисное знамя - Энди Маррею. 21-однолетний шотландец вряд ли мог выступить на этом Уимблдоне лучше: дошел до четвертьфинала, где его предсказуемо вынес неподражаемый Надаль. Казалось бы, все замечательно. И все же Henmania пока не сменилась полномасштабной Andymonium. Почему?
Собственно, англичане имеют две проблемы касательно Маррея. Во-первых, он шотландец. Изначально эта проблема была не английского происхождения: англичане, по моим понятиям, вполне были готовы (а большинство и сейчас готовы) болеть за шотландского теннисиста так, как они болели за являвшегося воплощением английского характера Хенмэна. Но многие шотландцы с самого начала подчеркивали - и очень даже публично! что Маррей - их, и только их. Что усиливается нынешним политическим контекстом, когда в Шотландии довольно сильны настроения о приобретении независимости - в сочетании с бытующими представлениями в Англии, что шотландцы жируют за счет англичан. К тому же сам Энди, мало того, что никогда не стеснялся подчеркивать свое шотландское происхождение, так пару лет назад - во время чемпионата мира по футболу - неосторожно брякнул, что, как и все шотландцы, предпочел бы победу любой сборной - главное, чтоб это была не английская. Это высказывание стало классическим PR disaster - ему поминают его по сей день - несмотря на последующие объяснения о вырванности из контекста и случайности.
А вторая проблема - личностно-классовая: Маррей не выглядит джентльменом (каковым был Хенмэн). Ни на корте, ни - кажется - в жизни. Именно об этом был на минувшей неделе the Big Talking Point в СМИ после победы Маррея в одно восьмой над французом Ришаром Гаске. С одной стороны, Мюррей выиграл матч в типичном - и так ценимом здесь - хенмэновском стиле, проявив упорство и волю к победе в незавидной ситуации: он проиграл два первых сета и проигрывал 4:5 и в третьем. И вырвал победу! С другой, эта победа пришла при огромной, на грани фола, поддержке публики, которую Энди постоянно подзуживал. Бедный француз чувствовал себя на корте весьма неуютно. К тому же, одержав победу, Энди картинно обнажил бицепс - что ему аукнулось после поражения от Надаля в следующем круге, когда в редкой газете не было заголовка типа "Andy Murray out-muscled by Rafael Nadal". После чего начались публичные дискуссии на тему: а было ли такое поведение Мюррея джентльменским? И "спортивным"?
Так вот: раз уж речь о "любви" к теннисисту, то я приведу спорящие друг с другом статьи двух дам. Колумнистка (не спортивная!) Daily Telegraph Лиз Хант (Liz Hunt) напечатала материал, в котором рисует Маррея агрессивным, апеллирующим к истеричной толпе, обидчивым, чересчур сосредоточенном и полностью лишенным обаяния, в том числе мужского. Нет, не снискать ему любви англичан, несмотря на возможные в будущем победы! С ней спорит другая (спортивная) колумнистка Telegraph Сью Мотт (Sue Mott), более чем кто бы то ни было из журналистов знакомая с Мюрреем (она была ghost writer - т.е. литзаписчиком - его недавно вышедшей книги "Hitting Back: The Autobiography"). Она утверждает, что образ Маррея в общественном сознании сложился ошибочный. Да, на корте он ведет себя агрессивно и резко - но это как раз свойство больших чемпионов. А вот в жизни он совсем другой - вполне себе джентльмен: не пьет, не курит, в свои 21 год уже три года имеет одну и ту же girlfriend (далекую от стереотипа типовых "футбольных жен", известных под аббревиатурой WAGs)... Очень положительный молодой человек!
Обе статьи очень хорошо написаны (я хотел было сократить их, и не смог) и много говорят об английском национальном характере. Так что приятного чтения. Ну а эпический финал не только успел возобновиться, но и снова был прерван - на этот раз в разгар решающего пятого сета. Кажется, самое время запостить этот текст...
Why Andy Murray will never learn to love all
by Liz Hunt
Was there ever a relationship more tortured than that between this nation and Andy Murray? On Monday morning I was embroiled in a fierce debate with colleagues about why we’ll never learn to love him.
On Monday evening I was enthralled, as were those same colleagues and 10 million other viewers, by that magnificent, white-knuckle fightback to a knee-buckling finish and a place in the Wimbledon quarter-finals. How I wanted him to win. And when he triumphed, for a brief moment I thought I did love him - until he indulged in that ridiculous “Popeye” gesture, baring his bicep at the crowd, and I was reminded, again, of all the reasons I don’t. Murray is too aggressive, too surly, too focused, too hairy and utterly charmless. When he was a truculent but talented teenager, he got away with it - not now. He’s 21, ranked 11 in the world, and should know better. It was excruciating to watch him during the post-match interview as he forced himself to acknowledge the support of the near-hysterical crowd.
You could almost hear the cogs turning: “What was it my publicist told me… oh yes, I’d better say thanks.” So out it grudgingly slipped, and I immediately regretted the emotional energy I’d invested in his match. What about the poor Frenchman, Richard Gasquet, forced to play on in the gloom just because it was Murray on Centre Court and the BBC was guaranteed a massive audience? Where was the sportsmanship in that?
I discovered the next day that others felt the same, as the Murray debate reached fever pitch again around the water-cooler. There are those who can never forgive him for quipping “anyone but England” when asked who he’d support in the football World Cup. I’m not among them. He’s Scottish, what did they expect? And there are those who will never come to terms with the fact that he’s not that nice Home Counties boy Tim Henman (Murray’s biggest plus in my opinion).
To these critics, acquiring an (English) girlfriend and a terrier to whom he is devoted is not enough to win them over. And forget Murray Mound.How dare his fans (Scottish, obviously) hijack Henman Hill - he’s simply not worthy. Tim rarely let his feelings show, never indulged in bellowing histrionics and restricted himself to the occasional low-level clenched fist when he was pleased with himself. (Personally, I think such restraint was a consequence of Tim being rather boring, as is reflected in his achingly dull Wimbledon commentary this year.)
Murray has been compared to John McEnroe and although his play could never match the artistry of the latter perhaps they do share a motivational anger. The only revealing comment Murray has ever made is about his parents’ divorce.
“They didn’t speak too much and they didn’t get on too well together,” he said. “I would get stuck in the middle of their arguments and get really upset. One of the things I would have loved to have more than anything was a family that worked better together.”
Could it be resentment that drives him? Cod psychology aside, my problem with Murray is rooted in the fact that, just when we’re on the verge of embracing him as a true Brit sporting hero who we’ll love win or lose (usually the latter), he spurns our affection.
He doesn’t give a damn what we think and he can’t be bothered to engage with us. We’re the irritating side-show that he hasn’t yet come to terms with in his pursuit of success. If he starts to win the big tournaments, he hopes he’ll never have to. That, perhaps, is what truly marks him out from the usual plucky Brit with a racquet, and why he may fulfil his potential. We’d better get used to the fact that with Murray there will be no fulfilling long-term love affair, just the odd one-night stand. God knows how I’ll be feeling tomorrow.
Will we ever learn to love Andy Murray anyway?
by Sue Mott
SUE MOTT is the writer who knows Andy best. While helping him with his autobiography, she discovered that the private person is very different from the public’s perception of him.
Men's semi-final day at Wimbledon and not a shred of 'Andymonium' remains. Are we missing him already? Not the Andy Murray who showed only meekness in the face of Balearic ballistics from Rafa Nadal, demonstrating a gulf in class as yet untraversable. But perhaps the other version, the one who roared and clenched fists in a ferocious five-set comeback against Richard Gasquet in the previous round. That was pure Gladiator with Scottish subtitles.
How we loved him. Or - hang on a minute - despised him. Even in that moment of triumph, the Centre Court whipped to a frenzy of support, there were loud voices raised in objection bordering on revulsion. Newsprint and airwaves have crackled ever since with passionately opposed opinion.
He is either a fresh gust of Scottish air, a winner unashamed to flash his feelings (or a biceps). Or he is a slouchy, surly, anti-English ingrate with ugly, aggressive habits and a mum who wore 'crumpled denim' in the hallowed setting of the world's most famous court. But the vehemence of the 'anti' brigade may be entirely misjudged.
The Andy Murray I came to know while working on his autobiography Hitting Back was an astonishing contrast to an image so bad that people would treat me with sympathy normally reserved for the bereaved when they heard of my latest assignment. In the event, I was greeted by a polite kiss, unfailing courtesy, a good deal of humour and (almost) punctuality. This should not be seen as an apology for his character. You can see that hackles are raised by any athlete so overtly inclined towards immodest goads and celebrations.
It is deemed to lack class and graciousness. Rod Laver did not behave like that. On the other hand, Jimmy Connors did. Murray has been behaving with incontinent, competitive rage ever since overturning Monopoly boards as a child. Perhaps, among other things, he is still growing up.
But those who know him would scarcely accuse him of yobbery. Anyone less like a Neanderthal (apart from the werewolf imitation) is hard to imagine. He loathes smoking, hates partying, refuses to touch alcohol (after trying it once and throwing up outside a Barcelona nightclub) and has been settled with girlfriend Kim Sears for three years. He is positively puritanical. His brother Jamie thinks he is mad for not exploiting the possibility of nightclubs.
Murray is no more in danger of an Asbo than Prince William. Come to think of it, given our heir to the throne's predilection for cocktails, less so. If this is the problem family on the Wimbledon estate, compared to the saintly Henmans, then someone had better explain how his Gran can be the pillar of the golf club in hometown Dunblane while his grandfather, the boys' stern disciplinarian when they were younger, collects antique Post Office memorabilia.
As for Murray's relationship with Tim Henman, they are firm friends. Of the two, Henman is by far the racier, sometimes spotted in the old days smoking outside the locker-room and known to enjoy knocking back the wine. Murray's favourite drink is a Starbucks Frappuccino without the topping.
His on-court behaviour has often attracted criticism. "I do swear sometimes towards my box," he admits. "If you're getting mad, you're getting pretty uncomfortable, and all I'm basically doing is looking for a bit of comfort from them. I know swearing isn't the right thing to do and I have tried to stop it. But I'm never going to be on court not saying a word. Sometimes you need to let off steam."
Off court, the steam completely evaporates. He is laid back to the point of supine. It is no coincidence that in the event of a fire, the first thing he would rescue from his flat is his beloved sofa. He plays on his PlayStation, argues (about anything) with his fitness trainer and court jester, Matt Little, and happily goes shopping with Kim. She buys the fruit and vegetables, he loads up the trolley with Milky Way cake bars.
"To the point where the lady at the checkout says: 'Do you think these are on special offer or something?' and I have to say: 'No, he just likes them a lot'," explained Kim. Far from being a trophy WAG, Kim, 20, is studying English literature at Sussex University. The day before the Nadal match, she was washing Andy's tennis gear from the French Open which she had found festering in a long-forgotten bag.
It is her dog, by the way, not Andy's; an early 21st birthday present from her parents. Andy did not name the border terrier either. When told she had been christened Maggie May, his immediate response was: "What a stupid name."
The Andy Murray we have seen on court this week is the competitive beast, until he was roughed up by Nadal. It is one side of his nature, without doubt. You could argue his self-belief shades into arrogance but there is no trace of it when he steps off the court. The first word his mother uses to describe him is "sensitive". He reduced her to tears one Christmas by giving her a card that listed his thanks for all she had done for him. He is undoubtedly stubborn and, like PG Wodehouse's famous Scotsman with a grievance, he could not always be mistaken for a ray of sunshine.
Incidentally, he is not anti- English, although he would admit to being pro-Scottish. His grandmother is English and his penthouse flat in Wandsworth is very much on English soil. He feels things keenly and is frequently contrite about his mistakes. "Obviously there's some criticism you laugh at because it doesn't make sense and people don't know what they're talking about. But there are times when you just want to prove someone wrong."
The need to prove people wrong - those who said he was weak, a hypochondriac, too prone to cramping - motivates him. That might partially explain his "bulging biceps" celebration. It looked a little gauche to British eyes, but Murray has been, until fairly recently, a teenager with teenage moods and awkwardness that comes with the territory.
His grandfather, the quiet member of the family, has an unshakeable opinion of his two grandsons. "They're very nice young men," he said simply and it is not beyond the realms of possibility that, in time, a growing band of onlookers will share that opinion.
In the meantime, Murray has learned from this Wimbledon experience that to make up the gulf in class between himself and the world's top three, he needs to be stronger, faster, fitter and utterly single-minded. He made no excuses for losing to Nadal. Simply, the better man won. Lack of self-awareness has never been his problem.
But he will never chase popularity. "Some people will watch me and go 'God, he's boring and has no personality'. Some people will think 'He's got a great personality and really wants to win'. People are going to have different opinions because they only see me on a tennis court. I'm pretty sure that if I'd become this moody git that I'm supposed to be, my friends wouldn't be my friends any more."
Увы, большими теннисными победами британские теннисисты своих болельщиков по-прежнему не радуют - точнее, радуют в том же духе, что был подробно описан в том давнем моем тексте. И потому - as ever - вместо смакования положительных победных эмоций на первом плане в прессе все та же тема - взаимоотношений публики с местными теннисными кумирами.
Кумиры - все те же. Правда, Тим Хенмэн уже не мучает своих болельщиков (т.е. всю нацию) на корте - он теперь работает телекомментатором (вот и прямо сейчас он на пару с Борисом Беккером разбирает на BBC эпизоды проходящего финала). Но пресса не оставляет его своим вниманием и в его новом качестве. И претензии к нему все те же: да, он человек культурный и профессиональный, но слишком уж благовоспитанный и правильный. Таким он был на корте - и Уимблдона не выиграл. Таков и в телестудии - и тоже не способен выиграть сердца телезрителей. Ибо скучен. В отличие, скажем, от Макинроя и Беккера, которые и теннисистами были с большими игровыми и поведенческими закидонами, и комментаторы такие же. За что и любимы. Для иллюстрации процитирую отрывок из статьи обозревателя Daily Telegraph с характерным названием "Tim Henman's verbal volleys lack fizz":
The faults in his play have been exposed. Chiefly, his timidity. And his niceness: niceness never works, except in care homes... we admired his game's neatness, efficiency, prettiness. But he never produced the monstrous snorting forehand, fizzing with power and spin that has you squawking something blasphemous in sheer wonder. Which is why Henman's verbal volleys and brief rallies barely dribble over the net.
Но основное внимание, конечно же, было уделено тому, кто подхватил выпавшее из рук Хенмэна теннисное знамя - Энди Маррею. 21-однолетний шотландец вряд ли мог выступить на этом Уимблдоне лучше: дошел до четвертьфинала, где его предсказуемо вынес неподражаемый Надаль. Казалось бы, все замечательно. И все же Henmania пока не сменилась полномасштабной Andymonium. Почему?
Собственно, англичане имеют две проблемы касательно Маррея. Во-первых, он шотландец. Изначально эта проблема была не английского происхождения: англичане, по моим понятиям, вполне были готовы (а большинство и сейчас готовы) болеть за шотландского теннисиста так, как они болели за являвшегося воплощением английского характера Хенмэна. Но многие шотландцы с самого начала подчеркивали - и очень даже публично! что Маррей - их, и только их. Что усиливается нынешним политическим контекстом, когда в Шотландии довольно сильны настроения о приобретении независимости - в сочетании с бытующими представлениями в Англии, что шотландцы жируют за счет англичан. К тому же сам Энди, мало того, что никогда не стеснялся подчеркивать свое шотландское происхождение, так пару лет назад - во время чемпионата мира по футболу - неосторожно брякнул, что, как и все шотландцы, предпочел бы победу любой сборной - главное, чтоб это была не английская. Это высказывание стало классическим PR disaster - ему поминают его по сей день - несмотря на последующие объяснения о вырванности из контекста и случайности.
А вторая проблема - личностно-классовая: Маррей не выглядит джентльменом (каковым был Хенмэн). Ни на корте, ни - кажется - в жизни. Именно об этом был на минувшей неделе the Big Talking Point в СМИ после победы Маррея в одно восьмой над французом Ришаром Гаске. С одной стороны, Мюррей выиграл матч в типичном - и так ценимом здесь - хенмэновском стиле, проявив упорство и волю к победе в незавидной ситуации: он проиграл два первых сета и проигрывал 4:5 и в третьем. И вырвал победу! С другой, эта победа пришла при огромной, на грани фола, поддержке публики, которую Энди постоянно подзуживал. Бедный француз чувствовал себя на корте весьма неуютно. К тому же, одержав победу, Энди картинно обнажил бицепс - что ему аукнулось после поражения от Надаля в следующем круге, когда в редкой газете не было заголовка типа "Andy Murray out-muscled by Rafael Nadal". После чего начались публичные дискуссии на тему: а было ли такое поведение Мюррея джентльменским? И "спортивным"?
Так вот: раз уж речь о "любви" к теннисисту, то я приведу спорящие друг с другом статьи двух дам. Колумнистка (не спортивная!) Daily Telegraph Лиз Хант (Liz Hunt) напечатала материал, в котором рисует Маррея агрессивным, апеллирующим к истеричной толпе, обидчивым, чересчур сосредоточенном и полностью лишенным обаяния, в том числе мужского. Нет, не снискать ему любви англичан, несмотря на возможные в будущем победы! С ней спорит другая (спортивная) колумнистка Telegraph Сью Мотт (Sue Mott), более чем кто бы то ни было из журналистов знакомая с Мюрреем (она была ghost writer - т.е. литзаписчиком - его недавно вышедшей книги "Hitting Back: The Autobiography"). Она утверждает, что образ Маррея в общественном сознании сложился ошибочный. Да, на корте он ведет себя агрессивно и резко - но это как раз свойство больших чемпионов. А вот в жизни он совсем другой - вполне себе джентльмен: не пьет, не курит, в свои 21 год уже три года имеет одну и ту же girlfriend (далекую от стереотипа типовых "футбольных жен", известных под аббревиатурой WAGs)... Очень положительный молодой человек!
Обе статьи очень хорошо написаны (я хотел было сократить их, и не смог) и много говорят об английском национальном характере. Так что приятного чтения. Ну а эпический финал не только успел возобновиться, но и снова был прерван - на этот раз в разгар решающего пятого сета. Кажется, самое время запостить этот текст...
Why Andy Murray will never learn to love all
by Liz Hunt
Was there ever a relationship more tortured than that between this nation and Andy Murray? On Monday morning I was embroiled in a fierce debate with colleagues about why we’ll never learn to love him.
On Monday evening I was enthralled, as were those same colleagues and 10 million other viewers, by that magnificent, white-knuckle fightback to a knee-buckling finish and a place in the Wimbledon quarter-finals. How I wanted him to win. And when he triumphed, for a brief moment I thought I did love him - until he indulged in that ridiculous “Popeye” gesture, baring his bicep at the crowd, and I was reminded, again, of all the reasons I don’t. Murray is too aggressive, too surly, too focused, too hairy and utterly charmless. When he was a truculent but talented teenager, he got away with it - not now. He’s 21, ranked 11 in the world, and should know better. It was excruciating to watch him during the post-match interview as he forced himself to acknowledge the support of the near-hysterical crowd.
You could almost hear the cogs turning: “What was it my publicist told me… oh yes, I’d better say thanks.” So out it grudgingly slipped, and I immediately regretted the emotional energy I’d invested in his match. What about the poor Frenchman, Richard Gasquet, forced to play on in the gloom just because it was Murray on Centre Court and the BBC was guaranteed a massive audience? Where was the sportsmanship in that?
I discovered the next day that others felt the same, as the Murray debate reached fever pitch again around the water-cooler. There are those who can never forgive him for quipping “anyone but England” when asked who he’d support in the football World Cup. I’m not among them. He’s Scottish, what did they expect? And there are those who will never come to terms with the fact that he’s not that nice Home Counties boy Tim Henman (Murray’s biggest plus in my opinion).
To these critics, acquiring an (English) girlfriend and a terrier to whom he is devoted is not enough to win them over. And forget Murray Mound.How dare his fans (Scottish, obviously) hijack Henman Hill - he’s simply not worthy. Tim rarely let his feelings show, never indulged in bellowing histrionics and restricted himself to the occasional low-level clenched fist when he was pleased with himself. (Personally, I think such restraint was a consequence of Tim being rather boring, as is reflected in his achingly dull Wimbledon commentary this year.)
Murray has been compared to John McEnroe and although his play could never match the artistry of the latter perhaps they do share a motivational anger. The only revealing comment Murray has ever made is about his parents’ divorce.
“They didn’t speak too much and they didn’t get on too well together,” he said. “I would get stuck in the middle of their arguments and get really upset. One of the things I would have loved to have more than anything was a family that worked better together.”
Could it be resentment that drives him? Cod psychology aside, my problem with Murray is rooted in the fact that, just when we’re on the verge of embracing him as a true Brit sporting hero who we’ll love win or lose (usually the latter), he spurns our affection.
He doesn’t give a damn what we think and he can’t be bothered to engage with us. We’re the irritating side-show that he hasn’t yet come to terms with in his pursuit of success. If he starts to win the big tournaments, he hopes he’ll never have to. That, perhaps, is what truly marks him out from the usual plucky Brit with a racquet, and why he may fulfil his potential. We’d better get used to the fact that with Murray there will be no fulfilling long-term love affair, just the odd one-night stand. God knows how I’ll be feeling tomorrow.
Will we ever learn to love Andy Murray anyway?
by Sue Mott
SUE MOTT is the writer who knows Andy best. While helping him with his autobiography, she discovered that the private person is very different from the public’s perception of him.
Men's semi-final day at Wimbledon and not a shred of 'Andymonium' remains. Are we missing him already? Not the Andy Murray who showed only meekness in the face of Balearic ballistics from Rafa Nadal, demonstrating a gulf in class as yet untraversable. But perhaps the other version, the one who roared and clenched fists in a ferocious five-set comeback against Richard Gasquet in the previous round. That was pure Gladiator with Scottish subtitles.
How we loved him. Or - hang on a minute - despised him. Even in that moment of triumph, the Centre Court whipped to a frenzy of support, there were loud voices raised in objection bordering on revulsion. Newsprint and airwaves have crackled ever since with passionately opposed opinion.
He is either a fresh gust of Scottish air, a winner unashamed to flash his feelings (or a biceps). Or he is a slouchy, surly, anti-English ingrate with ugly, aggressive habits and a mum who wore 'crumpled denim' in the hallowed setting of the world's most famous court. But the vehemence of the 'anti' brigade may be entirely misjudged.
The Andy Murray I came to know while working on his autobiography Hitting Back was an astonishing contrast to an image so bad that people would treat me with sympathy normally reserved for the bereaved when they heard of my latest assignment. In the event, I was greeted by a polite kiss, unfailing courtesy, a good deal of humour and (almost) punctuality. This should not be seen as an apology for his character. You can see that hackles are raised by any athlete so overtly inclined towards immodest goads and celebrations.
It is deemed to lack class and graciousness. Rod Laver did not behave like that. On the other hand, Jimmy Connors did. Murray has been behaving with incontinent, competitive rage ever since overturning Monopoly boards as a child. Perhaps, among other things, he is still growing up.
But those who know him would scarcely accuse him of yobbery. Anyone less like a Neanderthal (apart from the werewolf imitation) is hard to imagine. He loathes smoking, hates partying, refuses to touch alcohol (after trying it once and throwing up outside a Barcelona nightclub) and has been settled with girlfriend Kim Sears for three years. He is positively puritanical. His brother Jamie thinks he is mad for not exploiting the possibility of nightclubs.
Murray is no more in danger of an Asbo than Prince William. Come to think of it, given our heir to the throne's predilection for cocktails, less so. If this is the problem family on the Wimbledon estate, compared to the saintly Henmans, then someone had better explain how his Gran can be the pillar of the golf club in hometown Dunblane while his grandfather, the boys' stern disciplinarian when they were younger, collects antique Post Office memorabilia.
As for Murray's relationship with Tim Henman, they are firm friends. Of the two, Henman is by far the racier, sometimes spotted in the old days smoking outside the locker-room and known to enjoy knocking back the wine. Murray's favourite drink is a Starbucks Frappuccino without the topping.
His on-court behaviour has often attracted criticism. "I do swear sometimes towards my box," he admits. "If you're getting mad, you're getting pretty uncomfortable, and all I'm basically doing is looking for a bit of comfort from them. I know swearing isn't the right thing to do and I have tried to stop it. But I'm never going to be on court not saying a word. Sometimes you need to let off steam."
Off court, the steam completely evaporates. He is laid back to the point of supine. It is no coincidence that in the event of a fire, the first thing he would rescue from his flat is his beloved sofa. He plays on his PlayStation, argues (about anything) with his fitness trainer and court jester, Matt Little, and happily goes shopping with Kim. She buys the fruit and vegetables, he loads up the trolley with Milky Way cake bars.
"To the point where the lady at the checkout says: 'Do you think these are on special offer or something?' and I have to say: 'No, he just likes them a lot'," explained Kim. Far from being a trophy WAG, Kim, 20, is studying English literature at Sussex University. The day before the Nadal match, she was washing Andy's tennis gear from the French Open which she had found festering in a long-forgotten bag.
It is her dog, by the way, not Andy's; an early 21st birthday present from her parents. Andy did not name the border terrier either. When told she had been christened Maggie May, his immediate response was: "What a stupid name."
The Andy Murray we have seen on court this week is the competitive beast, until he was roughed up by Nadal. It is one side of his nature, without doubt. You could argue his self-belief shades into arrogance but there is no trace of it when he steps off the court. The first word his mother uses to describe him is "sensitive". He reduced her to tears one Christmas by giving her a card that listed his thanks for all she had done for him. He is undoubtedly stubborn and, like PG Wodehouse's famous Scotsman with a grievance, he could not always be mistaken for a ray of sunshine.
Incidentally, he is not anti- English, although he would admit to being pro-Scottish. His grandmother is English and his penthouse flat in Wandsworth is very much on English soil. He feels things keenly and is frequently contrite about his mistakes. "Obviously there's some criticism you laugh at because it doesn't make sense and people don't know what they're talking about. But there are times when you just want to prove someone wrong."
The need to prove people wrong - those who said he was weak, a hypochondriac, too prone to cramping - motivates him. That might partially explain his "bulging biceps" celebration. It looked a little gauche to British eyes, but Murray has been, until fairly recently, a teenager with teenage moods and awkwardness that comes with the territory.
His grandfather, the quiet member of the family, has an unshakeable opinion of his two grandsons. "They're very nice young men," he said simply and it is not beyond the realms of possibility that, in time, a growing band of onlookers will share that opinion.
In the meantime, Murray has learned from this Wimbledon experience that to make up the gulf in class between himself and the world's top three, he needs to be stronger, faster, fitter and utterly single-minded. He made no excuses for losing to Nadal. Simply, the better man won. Lack of self-awareness has never been his problem.
But he will never chase popularity. "Some people will watch me and go 'God, he's boring and has no personality'. Some people will think 'He's got a great personality and really wants to win'. People are going to have different opinions because they only see me on a tennis court. I'm pretty sure that if I'd become this moody git that I'm supposed to be, my friends wouldn't be my friends any more."