Booed by his home crowd, it’s little wonder Andy Murray’s going to throw up in Miami rather than get ‘Spoty’ in England

 
15 November 2012

During the dog days of the summer just past, I sat in the O2 Arena and watched something extraordinary. The occasion was the Olympic artistic gymnastics men’s team all-round final. Not a snappy title for a sporting contest, you’ll agree. But what played out on the floor of the O2 (or to be true to the brand-policed moment — the North Greenwich Arena) was truly special.

Great Britain’s men won a bronze medal. They nearly won a silver but were demoted from second place on the Olympic podium after a technical appeal from the Japanese team, who vaulted (heh) over them at the death.

Nevertheless, despite the fact that Britain’s men had finished a mere third, the appreciation from the massive crowd that packed the cavernous hall was astonishing.

There was a monstrous, ecstatic outpouring of appreciation from all the spectators assembled. The crowd stood and cheered, stamped and saluted British success in a sport at which we have, historically, been more or less pap.

It was the first occasion during the London 2012 Games when I felt a saline prickle somewhere around my tear ducts. And if crying with joy at a sporting event is a hackneyed response then so be it. These guys deserved it.

Last week the O2 welcomed a different Olympic hero and gave him a rather different reception. Andy Murray — a gold and silver medallist at the London Games — was in town to contest the ATP World Tour Finals.

It was the first time he had played tennis in front of a home crowd since his Olympic triumph and subsequent victory in the final of the US Open, a feat which made him the first British man to win a singles Grand Slam event since 1936.

But at the O2 this weekend Murray was booed. Not throughout, not constantly and not by everyone. But booed nonetheless. During his semi-final with Roger Federer, there were heckles while Murray served — which coincided with him double-faulting — and jeers when he changed racket.

The warm beam of the crowd’s adoration was directed far more towards Federer than it was to his homespun opponent. Federer is a man apart but this was still a pretty sorry sight. Fortunately, it’s unlikely that Murray will care. He is 25 years old, an Olympic gold medallist and (finally) a member of the elite Grand Slam club. He has millions of dollars in the bank, two cute dogs and a hot girlfriend with nice hair who follows him around the world. Bada bing, as they say.

But Murray is also, in a sense, free from the obligation to care whether he’s booed in Britain. No matter what he has done throughout his career — whether chasing public affection, as he occasionally tries at Wimbledon time, or ignoring it as has mostly been his instinct — he has never been unconditionally loved by the Great One-Eyed British Public.

Whatever Murray does there will remain haters who can’t appreciate what he has done for British tennis. There’s no point wasting excessive mental energy on trying to be liked by everyone — especially idiots. Tennis is draining enough as it is.

That’s why I am delighted to read that Murray won’t be attending the BBC Sports Personality of the Year award ceremony next month — a terrific decision for which he should be instantly knighted.

It’s amusing enough that there had been talk of him as a candidate to win the silly gong in the first place — it’s even funnier that he’d rather spend his valuable time away from competition at home in Miami, working on his legendary fitness training in a bid to win more Slam events next season.

Let’s boil it down — what we’re saying here is that Murray prefers the idea of spending a day running back-to-back 400metre circuits in the heat until he vomits than the idea of turning up to be simpered at by Barker and Lineker in a spangly BBC tits-and-teeth bonanza that demeans sport with the Strictly Come Dancing treatment.

Good on him. Andy Murray’s default position has always seemed to be the Millwall FC approach: no one likes me, I don’t care. Long may he keep it up. It seems to be working out pretty well for him at the moment.

Race row lawyer’s starting a civil war

Peter Herbert, chairman of the Society for Black Lawyers, seems hell bent on turning the issue of race relations in football into a civil war, with no care for the careers and reputations he ruins along the way. The police could find no reasonable grounds to charge Mark Clattenburg with racist abuse. He is, therefore, an innocent man. Herbert’s suggestion that a ‘football cover-up’ has prevented Clattenburg’s prosecution is an outrageous smear, which the referee does not deserve and should not stand for.

Stranded Wales risk beaching the Lions

The wheel of fortune in Welsh rugby turns uncommonly fast. Just over a year ago Wales were the stand-out northern hemisphere team at the World Cup. This spring they were Grand Slam winners. Tomorrow they face Samoa at home with the feeling that defeat is eminently possible. They need to pull themselves together, fast. There ought to be a heavy Welsh contingent in Warren Gatland’s Lions squad — it is in all our interests that Wales are at the top of their game for the next nine months.

Forget scars and stick knife in, AFC

Should AFC Wimbledon fans boycott their second-round FA Cup tie with MK Dons? No. They should go out and beat them. The outrage and fury that lingers from Wimbledon’s move to Milton Keynes is never going to fade until those who support the south-west London club in their new, AFC, incarnation can gloat over victories on the pitch. Sulking and brooding and refusing to turn up won’t help those old scars heal. There’s an old and apposite saying here: don’t get mad, get even.

The race that Coe will never lose . . .

Lord Coe’s autobiography, Running My Life, published this week, has a few good lines in it. The story of his grandfather’s escape from the Nazis is a good one, as is the backstory to the successful bid for the London Games. But best is the advice that was given to opponents of a young Coe by the late athletics promoter, Andy Norman. “You’ve only got two things to do,” he’d say. “Keep out of his way, and don’t ’it him. The public don’t like it.”

Twitter @dgjones

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