The fierce desire that has been the driving force behind a brilliant career is fading and it is best to accept that reality
He looks tired. But then he always looks tired. Those slumped shoulders, the pained grimace, the pallor of cold, hours-old sweat on his furrowed brow: this is Andy Murray whether he is winning or losing, whether he is surfing the crest of a wave or getting thrashed by a 22-year-old on live television in front of his loved ones. Even in his finest moments, Murray always had the habit of making tennis look like the hardest sport in the world.
This, however, is different. He looks weak. The constituent parts of shot-making in tennis are many and complex: talent, timing, touch, tactics, agility, musculature. But perhaps the most important ingredient of all is conviction. A great player in a great moment plays a shot in the absolute certainty that it will go exactly where he or she wants it to. It may not always come off, but that conviction powers the stroke, from conception to flourish. And even in his lowest moments, Murray always had that burning black lump of coal inside him, a smouldering kernel of something unbreakable and immortal that you may as well call pure desire. Now, under the blinking lights, it is going out.
Related: Is the sun finally setting on Andy Murray’s brilliant, battling career? | Andy Bull
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