Murray won his first senior matches on grass at Queen’s a fortnight ago, beating players far ahead of him in the rankings until the combination of injury, cramp and a former Grand Slam champion halted his progress. At Wimbledon, he has graduated. His first match in the main draw was hardly a problem; his first on Court One, against a seed, was a stroll; and his first on Centre Court yesterday gave the most conclusive evidence yet that a terrific British player has come among us.
Each test was a step up, and the latest was the most significant. Murray’s win against Radek Stepanek in the second round was easy, as Murray himself admitted, because Stepanek played awfully. But Nalbandian is in a different category. He has played a Wimbledon final; like Murray, he won the junior title at the US Open, beating Roger Federer in the final; he is a hardened professional, a man that none of the other top players enjoys meeting. Yet Murray, learning as we watched, handled him, at first with difficulty, but later, until he ran out of energy, with ease.
The first indication that there would be something rather un-British in Murray’s approach to Centre Court came with the cheer that greeted his entrance. The teenager was shambling in with a lack of veneration, his Fred Perry shorts crumpled and his iPod ear-piece in his left ear. He was carrying a plastic bag full of drinks bottles. Nalbandian looked immaculate.
His tennis was immaculate, too, until Murray began to undermine it. After a flawless opening service game, Nalbandian was broken in the third game. His response was ominous. He broke back immediately by feasting on Murray’s second service. At that stage, the Murray first-service was out of commission.
In those early exchanges, Nalbandian confirmed his reputation with fierce, accurate hitting from the back, burning the turf with raking drives, especially with his double-handed backhand. It was man against boy, as Murray struggled to stay with the pace and a stream of errors ended weakly in the net.
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Nalbandian at that stage was a bit quicker, hit harder and was more solid. But one of Murray’s great assets is a clear tactical head. He began to slice his backhand rather than try to slug it out with Nalbandian. He used drop shots to good effect, and his first service began to work.
First, Murray climbed to parity. There were three breaks of serve each in the first set. Murray’s hitting was achieving authority, and he began to win those long rallies in which both men were at full stretch.
Murray was now firing winners from both wings. Most came from his two-fisted flat backhand, but the one that really excited the Centre Court was a cross-court forehand winner to win the eighth game. It was shot of which Federer would have been proud and it brought the crowd to its feet as Murray celebrated with an excess of fist-pumping. It also demonstrated that Murray has every shot.
Like Stepanek and others before him, Nalbandian began to falter and crumble. After losing the first set tie-break, he was all at sea. Incredibly, Murray was out-hitting Nalbandian, working him from side to side, bossing the action. His first service — usually in excess of 130 mph, an impressive speed — was now his faithful friend. Nalbandian was the one who was late on the shot, caught on the back foot, made to seem a novice.
Like their hero, the crowd was learning. They had begun by shouting “Go on Murray,” then, in anxiety had called out “C’mon Andy”, which was too similar to “C’mon Tim” for comfort. But with Murray battling to take the first set and commanding the second, the most appropriate cry in a Scottish accent was “Come on Braveheart”. In the Royal Box, Sean Connery could hardly contain his excitement.
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Murray had proved himself at least equal to Nalbandian as a shot-maker. But soon he faced another trial — the stamina test. When Nalbandian took a handy lead in the third set, making his big effort, Murray’s movement around the court, which had been electric after his faltering start, began to slow.
He then made a decision that few top players would ever contemplate: he threw away the third set to gather himself for the fourth. It took no insight to see what he was up to, for there were balls that Murray made no attempt to reach.
It was a dangerous tactic for it gave Nalbandian the knowledge that Murray was tired and desperate. Yet it almost worked, and perhaps it was his only chance. Murray had his opportunities to win that fourth set, but when they were spurned, and particularly when the trainer was called on before the final set, the outcome was painfully obvious.
The teenager had been given his lesson, and it will be of immense value to him. Murray can seem a strange, geeky kind of person, and his on-court demeanour is, at times, obnoxious. His opinion of himself and what he has to offer the world knows no bounds and his interests are limited to tennis and rankings, especially his own. And, as he has shown yesterday and before, he is fearless. It would be normal for a youngster to be nervous when making his entrance on the big stage. He has such impudence that even on Wimbledon’s show courts he is able to enjoy himself and even to conduct the audience in his support.
He believes he can beat his elders and betters. He has learnt that empty stare at opponents that the macho players think makes them look so tough, even if tennis is a non-contact sport played with a fuzzy ball.
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But all these faults are significant virtues in the making of a champion. To put it more generously, he is single-minded, has remarkable presence of mind and the all-important killer instinct. He needs to be stronger and fitter. Then we will discover how high he can fly.