Andy Murray - Hitting Back: The Autobiography

Kipling's wrong, by the way. You can't treat them exactly thesame, Triumph and Disaster. I don't. Triumph is clearly better.I have never liked losing. When I was a little boy I'd overturnthe Monopoly board in a rage if I was losing so my gran tellsme anyway but you could say I have matured with age.I understand I'm not going to win every tennis match I play. Icome off the court and I'm disappointed, but I don't beatmyself up over it. I'm competitive, I want to win, but I'm notan idiot.

I wanted to win that day I stood under the Rudyard Kiplingquote at the entrance to the Centre Court at Wimbledon for thevery first time in my life. There's hardly a more famous spot inthe whole tennis world. You don't even have to look up toknow that it's there...

If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same.

It was my first Centre Court match, at my first Wimbledon, inmy first grand slam against a man who had played in aWimbledon final. Oh, and ten million people were watching ontelevision and I had this massive bag of drinks over myshoulder that was way too heavy to carry.

I had been sitting in the champions' locker room when theycame to get me for the match. It wasn't a mistake. I wasallowed to be in there because I'd been part of the Davis Cupsquad for Britain, but it was seriously weird being there, withattendants offering you towels and John McEnroe doingstretching exercises on the floor. The walk from the lockerroom to the court just made things even more unbelievable.

The corridor was lined with framed photographs of all theformer champions. Some I would play against one day andone day surprisingly soon like Roger Federer and LleytonHewitt. One I had already played against, no less a hero thanJohn McEnroe who had deliberately ignored me the first timewe met. Some had been runners up, like my childhood heroAndre Agassi I used to own a pair of pink Lycra and denimshorts thanks to him, which may not be something to boastabout. Some I had loved watching on TV like Bjrn Borg andJimmy Connors. Others I only knew about from the historybooks, like Fred Perry, who as everyone knows because weare always being reminded was the last British man to winWimbledon in 1936. That's a very long time ago. Now I waswalking down the corridor, listening to 'Let's Get It Started' byBlack Eyed Peas on my iPod, reckoning it was probably toosoon for me to change all that.

I was eighteen years old just and this was about tobecome the most amazing time of my life. We walked pastthe back entrance to the royal box. Sir Sean Connery was inthere, but I didn't know it at the time. We were led down a setof stairs beside the trophy cabinet, through the main hallwayand then, just to maximise the intimidation, they made mestand underneath that famous Kipling sign carved over thedoorway.

All the names of all the Wimbledon champions were letteredin gold on the wall next to me. A television camera waspointing at my face and my opponent was standing there withme, obviously much more relaxed than I was, having played onthe tour for eight years, an established top-10 guy. Ascompetitors go, David Nalbandian was a heavyweight. No onesaid anything. It took an effort to believe this was actuallyhappening.

I love boxing and sometimes tennis is pretty similar. No onegets punched in the face, but waiting to go on court was likewaiting to walk into the ring. The two of us would go outtogether, but only one of us would survive.

This was my first Wimbledon my first Wimbledon as a seniorprofessional. I'd played the junior tournament three timesbefore and lost twice in the first round. It wasn't exactly mymost successful stomping ground; I'd never played well there.I'd never really played well on grass before. It was only mythird senior tournament and here I was, about to play on someof the most famous courts in the world, amongst all the bestplayers, with 14,000 people watching and a huge televisionaudience at home. Two months before that I was playing andlosing in front of four or five people at a Challenger event inGermany.

That's why that Wimbledon experience was so special in2005. It was so new. I was a schoolboy's age, ranked 317th inthe world, I had no experience playing at that level, so going intothe tournament my expectations were pretty low. Why wouldn'tthey be? I'd never done anything at Wimbledon before. Thiscould so easily have been one of Kipling's Disasters.

And yet, by the end of the tournament I'd become a friend ofSir Sean Connery, was being stalked by television crews, hadreceived proposals of marriage and had had my first taste of'Murray-mania'. It was surreal.

I'd only started practising on the Friday before Wimbledonbecause I'd twisted my ankle at Queen's. That had caused quitea stir. Because I cramped up two points from winning my third-roundmatch against Thomas Johansson, the Swede who wonthe Australian Open in 2002, people were saying I was unfit. Ithad been a good match in many ways for me, but going widefor a ball at 3015 54 in the deciding set (my coaches will tellyou I usually remember every single point I play) I had turnedmy ankle badly. I seemed to be on the ground for about tenminutes before they decided to do something about it. Thetrainer taped up the injury, but when I went back out to play Icouldn't because the ankle was shot and my legs startedcramping badly. I couldn't finish the match and didn't step onany court for another week. I didn't know if I was going to beable to play Wimbledon at all.