Authors: Andy Murray
People have this impression that I'm some sort of foulmouthed
brat because I have so much attention paid to me if I
shout on the court. I admit I do swear sometimes towards the
people I know sitting in the players' box, including my coach
and sometimes my mum. If you're getting mad, you're pretty
uncomfortable and when you see someone in the crowd
supporting you, you are basically looking for a bit of comfort
from them. Just because I'm swearing in someone's direction
doesn't mean that I'm swearing
at
them.
My old coach, Leon Smith, understood. He said he didn't
mind when I shouted at him because he knew it was my way
of getting my temper out. He used to think I did it because I
had a close relationship with him and so he was the first person
I turned to when I was feeling frustrated. He thought it was a
positive thing, a trust thing. It was obviously better to shout at
him than at the umpire or the crowd.
There were some negative comments about the way I seemed
to be swearing at Brad Gilbert when he was my coach. I know
it's not right, and after a few months of doing it, I tried to stop,
but Brad said he understood. He did similar things in his
playing days. He used to speak to the crowd a lot during
matches. It wasn't an issue between us. He said he understood
that I was not so much angry with him as raging at myself.
I am not stupid enough to wonder why my temper is a story.
It seems ridiculously exaggerated to me, but I suppose the
media will highlight anything that is different. Maybe I'll grow
out of it. I think I am calmer and more mature on court these
days. However, I have to accept there will always be attention
on me that other players don't get. Wherever and whenever I
play, there will always be a high level of press interest, not
because I'm bad-tempered, not because I swear, but because –
as Tim discovered – I'm British and the media in this country
have a peculiar fascination with one of us winning Wimbledon
one day.
I remember when word first reached me about 'this kid with an
unbelievable feel for the game . . . always seems to play the right shot
at the right time . . . but he's a bit temperamental on court.' That
should remind us of someone. All those characteristics are still there.
The first time I ever really met Andy was when he came to
Luxembourg as a hitting partner to the Davis Cup team in 2004. It
was funny because I knew I was one of his heroes when he was
growing up, but it wasn't obvious from the way he behaved. I think I
had been much more unsubtle when I met my own hero, Stefan
Edberg, who used to live and train in London. The first time I ever hit
with him I'm sure I was just staring at him and making a fool of myself.
With Andy, even though he was struggling with the knee injury,
you could tell he was listening, taking things on board. I think he's very
perceptive and a quick learner. Off the court, however, we played
stupid games for much of the time. My sense of humour can be quite
childish and I'm very good at silly things like juggling rackets or mobile
phones, or lobbing screwed up balls of paper into bins. I've always
been into games and jokes, and I'm sure I played a few practical jokes
on Andy.
There was the time, at the end of 2006, when I was under some
pressure to return to the Davis Cup team. The matter came up for
general discussion and Andy being Andy, when asked by the press,
said he thought it might be better to play someone younger, for
the future of British tennis. I sent him a message saying: 'Thanks
for the vote of confidence. Good luck in April' (when the next round
of the Davis Cup would be played). He tried to call me so many
times because he thought I was seriously pissed off. Every time I saw
his number I ignored it. He sent messages saying: 'I don't know if
you're really cross or joking, but I'm really sorry . . .' After about three
days, I felt a bit guilty, so I called him up, laughing, and said: 'Don't
worry, I was joking.'
That's what I'm like with people I know and, I suppose, trust. It's
different to when I'm in a press interview room with my guard up.
There have perhaps been two different people throughout my
playing career. Me with friends, me with the media. I think, that's why
Andy was surprised to meet a completely different character to the
one he was expecting. It is more a true reflection of who I really am,
but my defence mechanism blocked it from the outside world. I know
my apparent character hasn't always appealed to everyone.
I was aware how difficult it might be for Andy to make the step up
from juniors to seniors. Every time you go up a level, from satellites
to Challengers, main tour to grand slams, it can be a somewhat
intimidating environment, and I tried to put myself in Andy's shoes. I
will go out of my way to help people I care about. He was a young
British guy who I had heard a good deal about and I definitely wanted
to make him as comfortable as I could. If that's what he says too, I'm
glad he feels that way.
His progress was pretty rapid, and I was obviously keeping an eye
on his results. Queen's 2005 was a big breakthrough and we nearly
ended up playing each other there. That would have been one for
the media. I was due to be his next opponent if he had beaten
Thomas Johansson instead of hurting his ankle and then getting
attacked by cramp. He was still very raw, but he was also playing to
a really high level. I had a feeling it wouldn't be long before he was
appearing more regularly in the same tournaments as me.
I was right. The next tournament was Wimbledon and while I was
knocked out in the second round (for the first time in a decade) by
Dmitry Tursunov, Andy went on to the third round where he played
David Nalbandian. I remember texting him to wish him luck. I can't
recall what I said. Probably: 'Keep your head down and enjoy it.' He
did. I could see he was streets ahead of me when I was the same age.
I had lost 6–2 6–1 in the first round of the Wimbledon Juniors when
I was seventeen. That put his progress in perspective, especially as
your first senior Wimbledon provides an intense spotlight. You're
growing up in front of everybody's eyes. That isn't necessarily easy
and your mistakes can be magnified. You just have to try and
embrace it as much as you can and he did. That's why I think he has
a really mature head on his shoulders.
He wasn't a lost soul in the Wimbledon locker room. Far from it.
He believed he was meant to be there. I'm sure he felt nervous
coming into the first round with the likes of Federer and Nadal, not
to mention the senior players like McEnroe and Becker, but he had
this inner belief that he was where he belonged, so he might as well
get used to it. It comes across to me that he's always believed he's
going to be a great player. This is just part of his journey. His career
has not necessarily taken him by surprise. If you've always had those
dreams and aspirations, you might surprise a few people around you,
but you yourself think: 'This is what I've been waiting for.'
Our next grand slam together was the US Open a couple of
months later, where I went one worse and lost in the first round.
Andy says I lost to him on the golf game in the players' lounge as well,
but I don't have a clear memory of that. I do recall there was this Sega
tennis computer game and I was one of the players you could choose
to be. Ironically, I was hopeless at it. I was never really into computer
games, but Andy was phenomenal on it. I'd go and watch him when
he played. He usually chose to be me and then played the most
ridiculous shots (way beyond my game). That is the other side to him.
He's still a kid. He's as happy as can be playing on those games, and
yet an hour later he could be on the stadium court in real life, playing
one of the best players in the world. It was pretty amusing.
I spent quite a lot of time with him and it never occurred to me
that I was being nice to a rival. I've always had great friendships with
various players, like Pete Sampras, Todd Martin, Roger Federer, and
it has never bothered me in the slightest when I had to play them. I
played Federer thirteen times in my career (7–6 to him) and it wasn't
because we were friends that I lost those seven times.
This is where the men's tour deals with some things a bit better
than the women's tour. You can go out on the court and do
everything you can to beat your opponent, and when it's finished you
can shake hands and go and have a beer. On the women's tour it
seems that the rivalry lasts a bit longer. They're not able to separate
the two things so easily. I got on really well with Andy. I wanted to
try and help him, to pass on a few things I'd learned over the years,
but it was never going to detract from how hard I was going to try
when I did finally play against him.
That collision turned out to be much sooner than I thought. It was
four months after his Wimbledon debut, the first round of the
Basle tournament – just another match on the circuit, but at the same
time very much
not
just another match. The British media always
made sure any clash between us countrymen took on much
greater significance than it deserved. Whenever I played Greg
Rusedski the match was always blown out of all proportion. I
desperately wanted to win but luckily I always felt totally comfortable
and confident going in against him. I must admit when I played Andy,
it was different.
His game doesn't really suit me. The last thing a serve-volleyer
needs is someone who can hit inspired passing shots from the
baseline. Andy is more a counter-puncher, and I felt I was overpressing
because of his style of play. At Wimbledon, I never felt any
great burden of expectation – and I think that's credit to me – but
when I played Andy I did feel the pressure. For some reason I put
extra pressure on myself which was stupid. I already had a good
player in front of me, I didn't need to make it any harder.
It was an uncomfortable match, mentally and physically, and he
should have beaten me quite easily. In the end it went to three sets
and was settled in the final set tie-break. I did discover the next day
that I had fractured my rib, but, much as I would like to say it affected
the match, I had no idea at the time and felt 100 per cent fit. Funnily
enough, I knew Andy was upset afterwards. I could see he had tears
in his eyes and was pretty affected by it. Disappointed as I was, I took
that as a real sign of his respect for me. It was noted. You remember
that sort of thing. When I retired I suddenly heard what my peers
thought of me. As much as you can be moved when Barry Flatman
of the
Sunday Times
writes something nice about you, what means
most to an athlete is the good opinion of your peers.
Obviously my defeat was treated as highly significant at the time and
I asked the press afterwards what exactly it was I had just handed to
Andy: 'Is it a baton, is it a torch, is it a flag, is it a crown? Whatever it
is, he's welcome to it.' I meant it. With his game, it wasn't going to be
long before he overtook me. It wasn't upsetting. He was the future. I'd
been in that position for such a long time. There had been my rivalry
with Greg in which I had mainly had the upper hand, but this was a
young guy coming up, ready to overtake and he deserved it. Rankings
don't lie. You don't buy your ranking points, you earn them.
We played four times before I retired. He won the first three, but
I pulled one back in our final match in Bangkok in 2006. I played a lot
better to win 6–4 6–2 and this time he wasn't so calm. He was losing
his temper and getting mad with his coach, Brad Gilbert, on the side
of the court. Those were all good signs to me.
It was a fine win for me because I beat a good player but, once
again, there was that extra edge that comes from being fellow-Brits.
It is ridiculous really. When two Argentinians play one another, or
two Frenchmen, or two Spaniards – which they do, week-in, week-out
– nobody takes any special notice. Our culture doesn't play by
the same rules. Two Brits going head-to-head always causes a stir. I
understand why. It's about scarcity value. There are so few players at
the top level, these matches are always going to have an extra
dimension.
In the short time we were on tour together, I actually like to think
I helped make Andy a better player. Did it help him beat me
eventually? It may well have done, but I don't view it like that. It was
a role I enjoyed. We talked a lot about things like schedules and, of
course, the press. I remember having dinner with him in Cincinnati in
2005, during his first few months on the tour, and not being afraid to
give him my advice about things like that. With his temperament and
his personality you could see that it was going to be much more
confrontational with the press than it ever was with me. That can
work both ways. It certainly would make the media's job fairly
entertaining and, at times, it can motivate you as a player. At other
times, it might get in your way a little bit. But you learn as you go
along.
You'll never change him. That's why he's so good. He's got that
competitive nature and he expresses it fairly freely, but obviously he
needs to channel it. I would say my main concern regarding the press
is that lots of opinions are going to be expressed about Andy and
sometimes he's going to get a little bit affected by them, not to
mention a little frustrated. In my opinion, that's not going to do him
any favours. He shouldn't be influenced. He sometimes gets a bit
caught up in it. That's just a distraction and he's got enough to
concentrate on already. He might be completely right, but he's never
going to be able to correct the media. If he's confrontational, he's
fighting a battle he definitely can't win. If that's the reality of it – and
it is – you're better focusing your attentions elsewhere. I think you've
got to have a thick skin and get on with it.
I learned from my mistake at Wimbledon when we were talking
about equal prize money in the late 1990s. I tried to give an educated
answer in a press conference, and because I was on the Player
Council at the time I had all the facts and figures. I finished off by
saying that if the women wanted more money, I thought they were
being a little bit greedy. That, to me, was the end of it.
Then I came into Wimbledon the next day and there were
probably eight or nine cameras crews jostling to talk to me, saying:
'Do you stand by what you said about equal prize money?' I said,
genuinely bemused: 'What did I say?' For the next forty-eight hours it
was a complete distraction. That's why you end up playing a straight
bat. The next time I was asked about women's prize money, I said
something like: 'It's nothing to do with me. I'm just here to
concentrate on my tennis.' Now I was labelled the boring idiot. Talk
about a rock and hard place.
When Andy tells people I'm quite a comedian, I can imagine them
being completely unable to believe it. That's why I say I'm two people.
I ask myself about that sometimes, but, even with hindsight, if you
asked me would I do anything differently, I wouldn't. I don't let everyone
in. That's just my way. When I'm around my close friends, they
do see a different person. I'm fine with that. I'm totally comfortable
that I chose to do things that way because maintaining an element of
privacy has always been important to me. That's not right for
everyone but that's the way I am. If the world thought I was boring
rather than funny, then that doesn't bother me. I'm not in a popularity
contest and nor is Andy.
I've always been honest to myself. I haven't tried to put on any false
fronts and play a game I'm not interested in. Andy isn't a million miles
away from that either. He's more expressive on court with his
emotions, but he's pretty reserved off the court. He needs to trust
people first and it doesn't take much in our position for your lack of
trust to increase when you've been burned a couple of times.