Australian Open tennis: Jig’s up for Sir Andy Murray

Andy Murray’s next Australian Open is likely his last. Stuff the World No. 44 ranking, put him on Rod Laver Arena. For old time’s sake. For auld lang syne. As a thank you.

Andy Murray hits a return against Croatia’s Marin Cilic during their men’s singles match at the Kooyong Classic tennis tournament in Melbourne. Picture: AFP

Andrew Barron Murray was serving for the US Open. His first major triumph. He leant against the back fence inside Arthur Ashe Stadium. I remember Kevin Spacey sitting in the third row. Murray had more than butterflies banging against the walls of his stomach. I thought he was going to park a porcelain bus right there and then.

He was already one of the greatest players of the modern era. And he was destined to become the odd man out in the famed Big Four. The other three showboaters would spend the next decade hogging grand-slam silverware like Johnathan Thurston hogged the ball in State of Origin.

In any other era, Murray might have gathered a dozen majors in his sporran but the dastardly Novak Djokovic, the walking, talking fairytale of Roger Federer and the rallying, rambunctious Rafael Nadal insisted on blocking his path. Enough to make a bloke puke.

Murray glanced up at Spacey that night in New York City, clutched at his guts, burped, belched, doubled over and developed the appearance of a cat mildly inconvenienced by the presence of a fur ball in its gullet. Then he served out the match to beat Djokovic in five sets. He spared us the technicolor yawn, coming good in the hood in 2012 at Queens to kickstart a career to be highlighted by two Wimbledon victories, back-to-back Olympic gold medals, a knighthood for Sir Andy and a quick jig with the World No. 1 ranking. He’s been one of the most iron-willed, trucker-mouthed, sublimely skilful, incorrigible scrappers the sport has ever seen.

Sir Andy’s majors tally of three, compared with Djokovic’s 24, Nadal’s 22 and Federer’s 20, is wildly out of whack. Sir Andy’s been better than that. His next Australian Open is likely his last. Stuff the World No. 44 ranking, put him on Rod Laver Arena.

For old time’s sake. For Auld lang syne. As a thank you. As a three cheers for the blood, sweat and tears. And as a gift to the patrons. If you think folks would rather watch Casper Ruud or Hubert Hurkacz on centre court, to use the Scottish vernacular, yer off yer head.

Sir Andy has played five finals at Melbourne Park. Lost the lot of ’em. Four defeats have been to Djokovic, one to Federer. And yet he’s been such a winner. Lang may yer lum reek, Sir Andy, the gloriously grizzled and outspoken old warrior who’s never been afraid to call a spade a bloody shovel and Stefanos Tsitsipas a cheat.

He warmed up for the Open with an exhibition match on Wednesday against Marin Cilic at the Kooyong Classic. Sir Andy plays with a bit of a hunch these days. He walks a bit old, if you know what I mean, in that he seems unable to stand fully straight, moving between points like he needs an emergency massage or some WD40.

It’s a wonder Sir Andy is playing at all after two hip operations, back surgery and umpteen strains, sprains, pains, twists and tears to neck, knee, abdomen, wrist, ankle, shoulder and elbow. Assorted mumbles, grumbles and stumbles accompanied his 6-3, 7-5 loss to Cilic. The Kooyong Classic matters naught. Still he fought but after five minutes, he looked like he’d been going five hours. His serving was erratic. His movement was occasionally cumbersome, stiff and slow.

He missed more backhands on Wednesday than he did in 2012 in its entirety.

The end seems nigh, the jig’s nearly up. This Kooyong performance was no classic. The creakiness of the body makes it virtually impossible for him to win seven straight matches in Melbourne. Perhaps he’ll hang up the boots and ankle braces at his favourite stomping ground of Wimbledon in July.

And yet, and yet, yer off yer head to completely write off a champion. When there’s seemingly no way, a bloke like Murray can find one. Perhaps the 36-year-old will make a right royal pest of himself in Melbourne. He’ll provide nuisance value, at the very least, against any opponent in any given clash. He’ll be unseeded but unquenchable in his desire to compete. To scowl at his foe like he’s thinking, “I’ll gie ye a skelpit lug!”

He said at Kooyong: “It’s been a good few days … it’s just good to play these matches at this stage of the season.”