Watching his nailbiting match with Wawrinka last night, I realised what makes Andy Murray possibly the most perfect British Wimbledon contender ever.
He’s good enough to win which means that, unlike with Tim Henman, you’re not squandering emotional energy on guaranteed disappointment. At the same time, though, he’s sufficiently charmless and unappetising (English fans, don’t kid yourselves: he thinks you’re Sassenach scum who wouldn’t know how to deep fry a Mars bar if the entire haggis population of the glens were to scurry from the midgey heather and bite you on the bum) for it not to be remotely bothersome if some Johnny Foreigner gives him a sound thrashing.
So when Murray’s playing, it’s always going to be a win/win situation for the fans. Especially now that, if things go wrong, there’s always Jenson Button.