Appreciating Andy Murray, and his unending love for the game

WATCH: After letting a 5-0 third-set lead slip away, Andy Murray takes out Nikoloz Basilashvili, 6-3 in the fourth.

Two days before the start of Wimbledon, a reporter on a Zoom call asked Andy Murray to recollect his 2005 debut at the All England Club. Murray pondered the question, then replied:

“I remember being nervous, but I don't know. . . I was just playing purely on instinct at that time. There were no consequences if I lost a point, or lost a match, a set—whatever, I was just going out there and winging it a little bit, doing what I'd always loved.”

Murray was barely 18 at the time, a gangly, pale youth who mumbled with a thick Scottish brogue and, when not on court, was seldom found far from his video-game controller. Over the 16 ensuing years Murray has ceased “winging it,” evolving into an astute student of the game and a three-time Grand Slam singles champion. Today, at 34, he’s a national treasure in Great Britain, a husband and father who gets mail addressed to: Sir Andy Murray

Yet sweeping success, time, marriage and the excruciating, career-destroying pain Murray has had to live with since 2017 have not diminished that adolescent love of the game. Not one smidgen.

“I don't know exactly what it is, I think some of it is deep-rooted,” Murray said, adding that it would be difficult to let go of what he’s been doing all of his adult life. He has missed being on Centre Court at Wimbledon, where he exalted in triumph twice. “I miss the pressure of that,” he said, “That's something I'm looking forward to feeling again.”

Murray experienced that pressure again on Monday at Wimbledon, not least after he allowed a two-set and 5-0 lead to evaporate, necessitating a fourth set. Once again, Murray found a way to put himself—and his pillow-punching, pearl-clutching fans—through an emotional wringer. Once again, he demonstrated that his love of the game can withstand any amount of self-sabotage and emotional torment.

That’s always been the Murray way. After he rebounded from squandering the third set, he skillfully and gamely salted away Nikoloz Basilshvili, 6-4, 6-3, 5-7, 6-3, he told the ecstatic Centre Court crowd how tough and frustrating the past few years have been.

“People keep asking me, is this going to be my last Wimbledon, my last match—I don’t know why—and I’m like, ‘No, I’m going to keep playing. I want to play.”

It’s easy to love playing tennis for a living. It’s a freewheeling, piratical way of life. There’s the money, of course, but there’s a lot more to it for the elite. Rafael Nadal clearly loves the way tennis enables him to grind, to lose himself in his work. Roger Federer cherishes his status as the game’s smoothest operator and role model. Novak Djokovic revels in his growing status as man of substance, a leader.

Andy Murray, once the peer of those men as a member in the vaunted “Big Four,” is that rarity, the icon as Everyman. He just loves playing tennis; it’s the thing that defines him insomuch as anyone can be handily defined. He’s thoughtful, articulate, and well-versed in his times, but those qualities don’t steal the shine from his pure love of the game. All pro players are driven by an internal fire, but the flame burns at its purest blue in Murray. And it has nothing to do with winning or losing.

Fans and pundits can sense that about Murray; it’s one of the reasons he is beloved to so many. The do-it-yourself aspect of his game is another reason. Nobody ever became a Murray fan because they fell in love with his somewhat herky-jerky, defense-heavy game. He still retains that gangly quality, and despite great foot speed, he still has a tendency to lumber and shuffle. His style is ragged, his game full of quirks and rough edges. All that makes it easier to put up with those bouts of surly behavior, when he heaps scorn on his team in the player-guest box, or freaks out like some giant, injured bird. These flaws make Murray human; a marketing team would use the word “relatable.”

There are other reasons to admire Murray, though. In 2007, Murray was criticized by some of his peers, including Nadal, for suggesting that tennis had a match-fixing problem and that “everybody knows about it.” The Tennis Integrity Unit was created in the wake of the controversy, and found no shortage of work to do (albeit in the game’s minor leagues). He has been an outspoken advocate for gender equality and walked the walk when he hired fellow former Wimbledon champion Amelie Mauresmo as his coach in July 2014, not long after winning his first Wimbledon title (Murray was the first men’s Grand Slam champion in the Open era to have a woman other than his mother as coach). The decision proved somewhat controversial, but while the team’s two-year record was mixed, Murray continued to stand by Mauresmo. even after they parted ways.

"It's one of my regrets that I didn't win a Grand Slam when I was working with her,” Murray said in a Sky Sports documentary. “For a lot of people that was considered a failure.”

He also told The Independent newspaper, "Have I become a feminist? Well, if being a feminist is about fighting so that a woman is treated like a man, then yes, I suppose I have."

For all that, Murray has never cultivated his persona as an activist of any kind, and he has never indulged in virtue-signaling on Twitter or Instagram. He has studiously avoided becoming embroiled in politics, although he’s more astute than some who wade into them. When Britain left the European Union, the Scot, who was thought to favor remaining in the EU, said only: "It's important that everyone comes together to make the best of it.”

The overall picture of Andy Murray that has emerged over the years, from his epic struggle to crack the Grand Slam code (Murray lost four Grand Slam singles finals before winning his first), to the tears he fought back after losing to Roger Federer in his first Wimbledon final, to the mysterious “victory salute” (a gesture he made to let friends in straits know he was thinking of them), to the modesty with which he handles his status at home—adds up to that of anti-celebrity.

In that, Murray is not exactly Everyman. He’s a man of uncommon decency. And he loves to play tennis and has recognized that his time is running out.

People keep asking me, is this going to be my last Wimbledon, my last match—I don’t know why—and I’m like, ‘No, I’m going to keep playing. I want to play. Andy Murray

It has been a long, hard slog for Murray since his career was tipped onto its side by hip problems that required major surgery. The pain became excruciating just weeks after Murray mounted a furious, late-season charge in 2016 to snatch the year-end No. 1 ranking away from Djokovic—whom Murray had to defeat in the dramatic, winner-take-all final match of the ATP season.

That was a “death march” the likes of which hasn’t been seen since Pete Sampras’ successful 1998 drive to finish No. 1 for a record sixth consecutive year. Sampras went 14-4 in that final, late-season push in Europe. Murray made his run via a five-tournament, 25-match winning streak that remains one of the most astonishing—but also unsung—accomplishments in tennis. The achievement capped one of the greatest years put together by an Open-era player, and put the kibosh on all those jokes about British tennis. It also may have ended Murray’s career, for he was never the same again.

Murray’s comeback effort has been a race against time and the odds, a struggle during which doubt and determination have been in a tug-of-war. As someone who loves the game, though, he’s also been gifted a rare opportunity to experience all the thrills—and chills—a second time around. A time during which he knows he has nothing left to prove, along with a hunger to prove—and enjoy the experience—more.

“I just wish I had appreciated, like, the small moments and stuff,” Murray said of his past in a Zoom call after he won his first match at Queen’s Club, the longtime Wimbledon tune-up. “Like walking back on the grass court for the first time off the back of the clay season, just enjoying those moments. . . celebrating wins and enjoying them more than probably what I did.”

One of the “small” moments, at least in Murray’s world, occurred when he practiced with Federer before the start of Wimbledon.

“Getting to play with Roger was really cool for me,” he said in his pre-Wimbledon presser, explaining that six or seven years ago it would have been just another pre-major practice session with a top player. “I would have been focusing on myself. When I take a step back from that, as a tennis fan, getting to play with Roger Federer two days before Wimbledon—it's really great.”

Murray is stopping to smell the roses, but in the end he’s a warrior athlete. He’ll also be sniffing for blood in the water, his ambitions and sobering realities in a constant state of tension. He admitted that he felt twinges of envy while watching the French Open final between his old pals, Djokovic and Nadal.

“There is a bit of me that's jealous watching that,” he said. “Like I would love to be playing in those matches, I would love to still be competing with them in semis and stuff of Slams. I'm not going to try and hide that.”

He added that he knows that age and his injury history all but rule out reaching—never mind surpassing—the bar he once set for himself.

“But if I can get through these matches and feel physically well, I'm sure that I’ll do things that are maybe—slightly—not expected.”

There you have it. Another story of never-ending love.