AS ANDY MURRAY walked out on to No 1 Court just before 5 o’clock yesterday afternoon, he will have known what Tim Henman has endured for the past nine years. Murray was the last Briton standing at Wimbledon. Two hours later he was still there, having grown at least an inch in outplaying a seasoned opponent in the second round.
It was an auspicious show-court debut from the Scot. There were times when he toyed with Radek Stepanek, seeded No 14. There were times when he worked the crowd into a frenzy; there were times when he retreated silently into himself. At all times, however, he was in control. It was a joy to behold from an 18-year-old as green to the big occasion as the grass on which he played.
Murray would have known of Henman’s defeat before he left the locker-room. When he returned it was to dizzy levels of expectation after his 6-4, 6-4, 6-4 triumph. He has the talent, like so many others before him. What sets him apart is an exemplary temperament. For much of the match, he looked like he was burying an inferior opponent in the quiet of Battersea Park.
More than 11,500 fretted over his every shot. Cries of anguish — what else does a British audience know? — coursed through the stands like an audible Mexican wave. And Murray orchestrated it, sometimes demanding more, at others shutting it out in accordance with his mood.
Murray fought hard for an opening in the opening set. Having saved a break point at 4-3 down, the decisive moment came at 4-4, when Murray retrieved superbly throughout a long rally until Stepanek drove long. Cue bedlam. The break was secured and, with it, the set — which Murray sealed with a 122mph ace.
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What followed was the stuff of fantasy. Stepanek had tormented Greg Rusedski at Queen’s Club two weeks ago but Murray was returning the pain now. An early break increased Murray’s already formidable confidence, so much so that when Stepanek netted a drop shot, Murray showed him the way two points later.
Murray’s clay-court education was plain for all to see. It made a curious sight to watch a Briton outrallying an Eastern European opponent, but there it was. Not only was Murray outlasting Stepanek, he was out-thinking him, too.
Curiously, Murray withdrew into himself halfway through the second set. He still unleashed a series of dazzling winners, many through his potent service return against an advancing opponent. Of the absence of fist-pumping, he would say: “I wasn’t feeling so well at that point. When I woke up this morning I had a sore head and stomach.”
Whatever was bothering him did not linger. On he charged through a third set memorable for the momentum that he had generated through the match. Another early break for a 2-1 lead becalmed stray nerves, and from then Murray knew that a third-round place would be his if he could simply hold serve. He was largely untroubled.
At 5-3, hearts fluttered when a second match point eluded him after Stepanek contrived a drop-dead net cord. But when Murray took the balls in hand one game later, he made no mistake. He won the decisive point as he had won the match as a whole: by rallying his opponent into errors.
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When he had finished off the Czech, grandmothers waved flags and mothers wanted to introduce him to daughters who screamed for him as though they had known him for ever.
Nerves? Only the smallest hint. “It’s just natural for me,” Murray said. “I enjoy playing in front of a crowd and didn’t feel nervous at all. I was a bit annoyed with him at the end. He tried to put me off and he ended up looking stupid.”
Succinct, short on hyperbole, long on promise. That is Andy Murray, the new holder of the British tennis baton. Good luck to the man. If he does half as well as Henman, he will have quite a career. Then again, he might go farther. Murray’s promise seems infinite.