Cincinnati, August 2016.Andy Murray was in the middle of one of the great runs in modern tennis. Twenty two consecutive match wins. Wimbledon. The Olympics. A stretch of tennis so dominant it felt less like a winning streak and more like a statement – this is what the best player in the world looks like when everything clicks.
It ended that day. Marin Cilic, in a tight two setter, brought the streak to a close.I was there.I caught a glimpse of Murray post-match -cycling in the recovery room, already doing what champions do, turning the page before the rest of us have even finished reading it.
There’s something quietly remarkable about watching an elite athlete in those private moments between the loss and the press conference. The world outside is processing what just happened. They’ve already moved on. When I finally got the chance to meet him, I braced myself. A man who’d just seen a 22-match winning streak end – who’d won Wimbledon and Olympic gold in the same summer – might reasonably be in a reflective mood. Quiet, perhaps. Polite but brief. Not Andy Murray. He was jovial. Smiling. Completely present. He asked me where I’d travelled from. Pune, India, I told him. He nodded, genuinely. Said that was a far way off – I must be jet lagged.Andy Murray, moments after losing in Cincinnati, checking in on my sleep schedule. I congratulated him on the streak -22 wins is 22 wins regardless of how it ends -and asked if he’d be happy to sign my t-shirt. He agreed without hesitation. I later gifted the Tshirt to my younger brother.
We met again a few years later -Andy speaking at our conference. Backstage, no tennis talk. Just his golf game and whether Arsenal would win the title. He said it was looking good, and a warm conversation followed.
Grounded. Warm. Genuinely present. That’s Andy.
Same side of the net.