You've got to hand it to Andy, he proved he's the real deal

David Mellor
10 Sep 2008

The Andy Murray to remember is not the sadly reduced Murray of Monday night, but the one who went head to head with Rafael Nadal on two successive evenings.

The British No1 out-served, out-hit and out-thought him, with the kind of consistency about his serving - 21 aces - and ground shots that few would have imagined possible,especially given Murray had lost the last 11 sets to Nadal.

Murray, in Churchill's phrase about China, is a mystery wrapped in an enigma. He stands there with bumfluff you long to take a pair of garden shears to, and tennis gear that would look grungy in a public park, and you think, what's this guy on?

And then, or at least every now and then, he performs, and suddenly you realise here is a natural stroke player, blessed by God with a talent. In short, here is at long last a British man who will win a Slam, and maybe even several.

Think about it - he's only 21. Nadal, except on clay, isn't technically better than Murray. Federer on form surely is, but then Federer is six years older.

The Swiss was awesome on Monday, every inch the man that had won 166 out of his last 180 possible five-set matches, and had something to prove.

But he won't be around forever. What Murray has proved is that when Federer makes way, he, Murray, can live with both of the two claimants to Federer's throne, Nadal and Novak Djokovic.

The boy needs a make over style-wise. But his head is coming together, while his physique has improved beyond all recognition.

This was a lad who not so long ago looked puffed out going into a third set. In New York his athleticism around all of the court was impossible not to admire, and it was no shame to run out of steam against a well-rested, highly motivated Federer, when Murray had survived three matches of more than three-hour to get there.

A fascinating fortnight for him then, and for us. At last British tennis has produced a real winner, even though it might take a couple more seasons to prove that.

And, knowing Murray, a man dedicated to snatching defeat out of the jaws of victory as often as he can, there will be quite a lot of alarms and excursions along the way.

But this wasn't a flash in the pan. Murray, love him or hate him, is the real deal.

• Sky's otherwise excellent American tennis coverage was marred by advert breaks at every changeover.

And each time there was a Skybet sequence, over which a flat Yorkshire voice sounding like Geoff Boycott on tranquilisers intoned: "It matters more when there's money on it."

Apart from the self-evident falsehood of the statement, do these people take us for morons? Whatever bookie I might use in future, it won't be Skybet. A fitting punishment others might also impose.

Ashley's succeeded only in turning Keegan into a victim

Keegan resigns screamed the Standard billboard last week. I guess they keep them in stock, knowing they'll come in useful every couple of years.

Like the guy a while ago who, when asked if he had a regular job replied, yes, he was the organist at Elizabeth Taylor's weddings.

It takes a lot to make me feel sorry for Kev, a super player but as a manager, simply hopeless; a headless chicken, who thinks tactics are peppermints.

But, as he said with commendable dignity, a manager has the right to manage, and crucial to that is to be able to choose who to bring in. It is a remarkable achievement to turn Keegan into a victim, so hats off to Mike Ashley for doing it.

Maybe I've got Ashley wrong. Maybe at home in a velvet smoking jacket, he dispenses finest claret to discriminating friends, while holding forth eloquently on the poetical works of Shelley.

But I don't think so. To me he's just a fat man in a Newcastle shirt, who seems destined to further ruin what was already England's most underachieving big club.

I went into the property business because I thought this was the place where anyone could make money.

But now I reckon I should have chosen selling sports gear, because if that bloke can make an incredible pile doing it, it really can't be that difficult can it?

Perhaps his Chelsea connections made him appoint Dennis Wise but bringing him in over Keegan's head made institutionalised conflict inevitable.

The chaos that has ensued was both predictable and predicted.

Rumour has it Ashley is keen to sell out. The sooner he goes, the better.

Setanta must welcome extraterrestrial beings

Interesting to hear the fans at the Andorra game abusing Setanta, though the commentators affected not to notice. The FA don't want to know, either.

They have washed their hands of responsibility for the unprecedented situation last weekend that a tennis game, Murray versus Nadal, even though it, too, was exclusively on satellite, pulled in more viewers than an England World Cup match.

The Football Association say they have no control over who buys away rights, but that's cobblers.

Setanta are their partners, along with ITV, for home games, and the FA should make it clear they won't tolerate not even a highlights package being available to a terrestrial broadcaster.

A striking argument

A lot of England's problems centre on not having a reliable strikeforce, which plenty are keen to blame on foreign strikers stopping young English lads getting their chance in the Premiership.

I don't buy that. Leaving aside the self-evident truth that having restrictions on foreigners hasn't turned the England cricket team into world-beaters, the fact is a young home striker who, say, banged in 30 goals for Tranmere last season would be in the Premiership today, foreigners or no foreigners.

It's just that there weren't any. Forwards like Dean Ashton and Andy Johnson got noticed in the lower leagues, and soon got their Premiership chance. The tragedy is that neither has made much use of it.

Carra whines cutting no ice

Jamie Carragher says it never mattered as much to him to lose in an England shirt as in club colours, and implies this is true of others as well.

I prefer to ignore Carragher as an attention seeker, who dropped out of England contention in a fit of pique because he wasn't being picked.

The best way for his ex-colleagues to prove him wrong is to put in a great performance this evening. But I'm not holding my breath.