The night before a big match, the sensation fluctuates. Sometimes, the nerves might lay dormant, at others they are out of control, sleep then proving hard to come by.
Andy Murray is no stranger to a night to ponder such an occasion. On six different nights previously, he had looked ahead to a grand slam final.
But at Wimbledon in 2013, the magnitude of it was all the more monumental. His every move had been pored over for the fortnight with the prospect of a first British male champion for 77 years.
In his first four grand slam finals, he had suffered defeat. This time, the sensation was different as he prepared to go to bed the night before facing Novak Djokovic.
He had broken his grand slam curse by beating Djokovic in the US Open final the year before, having won Olympic gold on Wimbledon’s Centre Court just a few weeks before that.
“Sometimes before a big match, you feel nervous the night before, you wake up and still feel a bit nervous and it kind of stays there,” Murray said. “But I felt fine the night before, I slept well, got up and was fine in the morning.”
You knew history was being made, it was more than just a sporting moment
He followed the usual pre-match rigmarole of practice and then quite suddenly about half an hour before things changed. “I got really nervous, maybe the worst ever,” he recalls.
Inside Centre Court, the nervous anticipation was palpable. It was my first year covering Wimbledon, for umpire Mohamed Lahyani it was his 21st, but this one felt different.
“Every grand slam final is special but, when I took my seat, this was something even bigger,” he said. “It’s something I will never forget. I felt nerves beforehand — I think if you don’t you’re not doing your job properly — but you have to focus on first point to last.”
In a hotel room in Stuttgart, Jamie Murray, Andy’s older brother by 15 months, opened his laptop and got ready to watch the match on a “mediocre” livestream with his wife, Alejandra.
“It was a weird way to watch your brother play a Wimbledon final, but I don’t regret missing it,” he said. “I was playing in a tournament the next day.”
Inside the players’ box sat mum Judy, Davis Cup captain Leon Smith and six-time Olympic champion Chris Hoy with his wife, Sarra, among others.
Hoy had been in regular contact with the Murrays over the years and was repeatedly invited to attend matches. His training and competition schedule meant he struggled to ever make it until the middle Saturday, and was invited back for the final.
“You knew history was being made,” he said of the day. “It was more than just a sporting moment, it was massive for everyone.”
In the commentary box with Boris Becker and Tim Henman either side of him, Andrew Castle felt the nerves of broadcasting potential history to the 17million-plus people who were glued to the BBC coverage on a sunny summer’s day. “It was a match and occasion like no other,” said Castle. “You just don’t want to make mistakes and it’s really important you don’t overtalk.”
For the 15,000 inside the stadium, the script went perfectly to plan as Murray took a tight opening set 6-4 in an hour.
In set two, the Djokovic fightback began, as the Serbian raced to a 4-1 lead, only for Murray to pull it back to four apiece. There was a moment of contention when Djokovic, out of Hawk-Eye challenges, queried a call at 5-5.
Lahyani stepped in to back his linesman. “I said it was good and agreed with the linesman. He was frustrated but he quickly moved on.”
Moments later, Djokovic hit a forehand into the net, Murray broke and served out the set to love at 7-5. A historical win looked within reach, as Murray broke early to go 2-0 up in the third, only for Djokovic to rattle off four straight games. The Briton clawed his way back and went 5-4 clear with three match points on serve.
But, as is Djokovic’s wont, he refused to capitulate and piled the pressure on his opponent, earning himself a litany of break points.
Inside the players’ box, nerves were building — Hoy remembers a tension so unbearable everyone was just holding their breath. As the camera closed on Murray’s face, Castle uttered the words: “Sporting immortality doesn’t come easily.”
Murray remembers vividly facing those break points: “That game could have turned the match. We’d been playing for close to three hours and it could have turned from me being two sets to love up and serving for the match to losing that game and possibly the set. It was massive in terms of momentum.”
But Murray held firm to fend off the breaks and win the final set 6-4, with Castle adding: “The wait is over, Andy Murray is the Wimbledon champion,” a line he believes was weak but could have been worse. “Tim [Henman] leapt up like an explosion and hit me right in the head. The winning line could have been, ‘oh s**t!’”
For Castle, it remains the stand-out moment of his career a decade on, and launched euphoric celebrations, Murray’s mum sobbing into the chest of Smith before Murray clambered his way up to the box. Asked immediately about the last point off court by ESPN, he initially could not remember what had happened.
For Hoy it was his “all-time favourite sporting moment I’ve seen. You just felt everything was perfect. At the risk of sounding cheesy, it felt like history was being made throughout and this was the time.”
Afterwards, Hoy gathered in the players’ lounge and was there as Murray lifted the trophy in front of an adoring public later off court. Beers were being cracked open in the changing rooms, Castle was among those to sneak one.
Hoy and his wife had to head home, thereby missing out on the celebrations to follow.
But for Murray, they were shortlived. “I did drug testing and I just crashed,” he said. “I was absolutely shattered, it took quite a lot out of me.”
Meanwhile, in Stuttgart, it was a muted celebration for his brother. He said: “He was playing Novak, who might go down as the greatest player ever, and he’d lost a bunch of finals before. I was just super-happy and relieved Andy had done it.” He and his wife marked the occasion by going out for dinner, and then he duly lost his doubles match the next day.
Back at Wimbledon the next morning, Murray patiently gave interview after interview. Prior to the tournament, I’d had a half-hour sit down with him, which followed with small talk about struggling to get my then four-year-old to go to his tennis lessons.
The morning after the biggest moment of his career, Murray picked up my notebook and wrote, “Freddie, go to tennis class. Andy Murray”. Ten years on, he still goes every week.
