“YOU’RE going to be a legend, you know that,” an unbashful young lad said as he thrust an autograph book at Andy Murray yesterday. What the little fellow would have made of Tim Henman on a day when it looked as if the torch of British tennis ambition was going to be passed from England to Scotland, heaven alone knows.
Henman’s legend was extended on Centre Court as he recovered from two sets down for the first time in this his twelfth Wimbledon to beat Jarkko Nieminen, of Finland, 3-6, 6-7, 6-4, 7-5, 6-2. Only in the fifth set did he play to a standard anywhere near his rank in the game, for the rest of the afternoon, it was the tennis that Henman in the most capricious of moods has defined as an art form unique to him.
Goran Ivanisevic, the 2001 champion, used to talk of there being three Gorans: the good guy, the bad guy and the one who intervened in their prolonged disputes. There are two Tims: Tim the terrible and Tim the tumultuous. For two sets, terrible had the upper hand, throttling his ambitions, before tumultuous began to probe at the back of his mind and finally, gloriously, decorously, to the amazement of everyone and no one, finally flowered. And this is only the first round.
As unfathomable as the way the British No 1 played in the first two sets — dumping volleys, slashing at groundstrokes, unable to move his feet — the turnaround was equally improbable. Nieminen’s level remained very much the same: he did not make many errors, his double-fisted backhand contrived improbable winners, he stayed mentally strong, he did what a No 70 in the world would do most days of the week. It was Henman’s match to win, and his to lose. Winning only just won out.
“I just struggled with my form and that’s the issue,” he said. “The courts have changed so much here over the years, it’s heavy and slow, the ball doesn’t come through, but it is the same for everyone. But I was flat with my attitude and body language and at two sets down you’ve got to dig in and play with what you’ve got. I just have to find a way to perform better, that’s the challenge.”
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Of that there can be no doubt. What must have been whirling through his mind when he slumped into his chair having lost the second-set tie-break, what must Paul Annacone, his coach, have been feeling, what must his family have been going through? His mother-in-law was handing out the wine gums, but their flavour must have been perishing in relatives’ mouths.
A first-round defeat, his first since 1994 when a raw teenager, would have stuck in the craw, it would have inspired crazed stories about his lack of a future, that the magic had gone, that he was a spent force. In truth, he looked all of those things after a sorry hour when he looked down at the grass and must have had trouble recognising its colour, its texture, its very aroma. And this is supposed to be his home.
He had countenanced caution because his form coming into the championship was patchy, he did not know exactly how he should play and when he tossed away a 40-0 lead on his serve at 3-5 in the first set to a clutch of airy-fairy shots, a pall descended. He broke in the first game of the second set but lost serve to love in the sixth game, led 4-2 in the tie-break but surrendered that when a stumbling sliced backhand service return on Nieminen’s second serve slid into the net.
The third and fourth sets were each clinched on timely breaks, in the tenth game of the third and the twelfth game of the fourth. Centre Court discovered its patriotic voice. Henman was flowing now, digging deep, making fantastic “gets” at the net, where previously he had been all limp wrists and insecurity. It was, perhaps, typical of his day that he should reach his first match point with a remarkable, stooping backhand cross-court volley from a fierce attempted pass by the Finn, only to toss it away with a woeful backhand service return. How could the same man play two such ridiculous shots in succession?
But that is the essence of Henman. It was apt that Nieminen should make the backhand volleying error on the second match point for the Briton and Henman could breathe again, ready to spend a day of contemplation before he steps back tomorrow against Dmitry Tursunov, of Russia.
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Typical Henman. At two o’clock it seemed certain that today’s headlines would be in celebration of Murray defeating George Bastl, of Switzerland, on his Wimbledon debut, in a manner of such inner resolve and belief that you knew you had borne witness to a player who belongs in the big time. By six o’clock, it was all about Henman.