The first time I properly met Andrew Murray he was juggling tennis balls on his feet in a low-key leisure centre. Left foot, right foot, high, low, left, right; nothing beyond control, the world at his feet. Luxembourg, of all places. A 16-year-old Scotsman, making waves in the juniors, had been invited by Britain’s then Davis Cup captain, Jeremy Bates, primarily to pick the brains of Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski but also, as it transpired, play them off the practice court.
Desperate to rise above the role of sparring partner, Murray played one set that dismantled the Rusedski serve/volley game in a devastating demonstration of potential. Clearly an astute thinker, Murray dropped returns in short, always to the backhand weakness, jamming the frazzled Rusedski and driving him to despair.
