Andy Murray

There are, I'm afraid, certain people whom I dislike without having any credible reason for disliking them. Emma Thomson is one. And Andy Murray is another. Or, I should say, was another. Because after seeing him beaten by Federer on Sunday I felt a lot warmer towards him. I felt really sorry for him. There was a picture of his face in yesterday's Telegraph that, I felt, summed up the disappointment he felt. Well, not so much simple disappointment but it showed a man looking as if he was staring into the abyss.
Unlike Stephen Glover in today's Mail - together with millions of other Britains - I was not cheering for Murrray during the game; I was secretly hoping Federer would prevail. But after the game I realised what the loss had meant to the Scottish player and I suddenly felt guilty that I had not supported him (not that my support would have done him much good, sitting as I was on my settee at home).
But Murray had previously come across as a rather arrogant Scottish Nationalist, a man with little charm, a poor interviewee who didn't seem to want to be talked to, a bit of a bore in fact. Now he appeared almost human and almost likeable.
And he could have won. As Boris Becker (another person it's not easy to warm to) reported yeaterday, if Murray had broken Federer's servive in the second set when they were 40/40, he probably would have won. But he didn't. And that, said Becker, is where the difference between a winner and a loser rests: the winner can take the vital point at the right time.
It would do Murray good to not only have Ivan Lendl (there's another not quite likeable guy) as his coach but someone who could coach him in the social graces. Can't think of anyone offhand.