Battling Eaton snuffed out by the notorious Brit Basher

Feeling the strain: Chris Eaton

Strip away the romance for a moment and the 628-place chasm that separates Eaton from Tursunov was all too apparent once the Russian had squeezed through the opening set and picked away at the nerve ends that betrayed the Briton’s lack of true belief.

It would be churlish to dwell on technical deficiencies, however.

This occasion was all about raw emotion. Eaton embodied the bulldog spirit. Add in his status as a lovable underdog and the combination was irresistible.

Eaton said: ‘The noise was fantastic. They were with me every step of the way. They did a hell of a job and I did what I could. What I had on the day I put out there, but I don’t feel great. I just lost a tennis match and it hurts.’

From the moment the 20-year-old from East Horsley, Surrey, walked out into the early evening sunshine wearing a huge grin and waving in sheepish appreciation to this new legion of fans, his audience was captured. He even had a row of female admirers, Eaton Eyefuls dressed in off-the - shoulder T-shirts.

Cheerleaders were not needed, though, because Court One had already decided raucous support was the only course to take for as long as the British boy needed it.

In the players’ box, proud parents and girlfriend glowed. They, too, had been thrust unexpectedly into the national limelight. They even dared believe a second miracle was possible when Eaton matched Tursunov ace for ace in a tense first set.

Double-faults were plentiful as well — from both men. Tursunov is a Davis Cup veteran, not easily swayed by a hostile home crowd, but this was different — a hiding to nothing against a player he ought to swat away with a few choice swishes of his racket.

When it came to the first-set tiebreak, though, it was Eaton who cracked. Experience told as Tursunov stayed back to send returns spinning at the incoming Briton’s feet and seal an advantage that always looked like being decisive.

Eaton dropped serve twice in the opening five games of the second set and fear of embarrassment spread. It was too much for the parents of Tim Henman, who left at that point. Four years ago they watched their own son’s Wimbledon adventure ended by Tursunov.

On the Eaton Estate, formerly Henman Hill, the chill had begun to bite. The remnants of picnics — yes, even whole strawberries — lay discarded on empty tables, while families huddled together in defiance of a Russian onslaught that threatened to sweep away their new hero.

Eaton refused to yield. The second set was lost and the Eaton Eyefuls had slipped cardies and Union Flags around their bare shoulders. But the man who had slogged his way through six matches of prequalifying and qualifying was not giving up without a fight.

Time and again, he scudded aces past Tursunov, yet it was his one double-fault of the third set which yielded the vital break of serve. As vociferously as the crowd tried to haul their man level, the game was up . . . and everyone knew it.

As he packed away his souvenir towel, Eaton cast a grateful glance at his public. Even in defeat, there was so much to savour.