Hitting Back Read online

  At the beginning of that year I had been really struggling. I'd lost a lot of matches at senior tournaments. I didn't know if I was going to make it. I didn't know if I was good enough. That Wimbledon was where it all clicked. It was like a light bulb going on. I'd started playing tennis when I was three years old, and I'd made a lot of sacrifices over the years. I'd gone to Spain, left my family, and it had been a long, long road – but now I'd just played five sets in the third round of Wimbledon. I'd lost but it was close. I didn't feel I had made it yet, but that tournament was like a payback to me for all the hard times.

  Now I had to start working even harder. I had to start spending more time in the gym, being more professional. I was eighteen and still physically under-developed. I was still growing and hadn't put on much muscle. Basically, I just needed to grow up and after that Wimbledon I did.

  Chapter Two:

  But I'm Not Sorry

  People think that I'm stroppy, that my mum's pushy and that my big brother fancied his mixed doubles partner at Wimbledon 2007. It just goes to show how appearances can be deceptive, although I'm not so sure about Jamie and Jelena Jankovic. But that's his story. My story is that I am not stroppy at all. I can't remember the last time I had an argument with my mum. I genuinely can't remember. I never slammed a door, never shouted 'I hate you.' I never did either of those things to my parents. I think Mum is the one person who gets me. She understands me really well. I can't count the number of times I've been called a bad-tempered brat, but that is not how it felt growing up. I would say it was relaxed, easy-going, full of sport and loads of fun.

  Obviously I can't remember the very early years too clearly. I can vaguely recollect playing swingball, but I can't picture a time or place. I have a memory of going to France with Mum and Dad, but nothing specific comes back to me except I can remember a babysitter giving me a little sip of her coffee and I spat it out. I've never touched coffee since.

  *

  I was born Andrew Barron Murray on the 15th of May, 1987, in Glasgow. Only two weeks before, the family had moved to Dunblane, a little cathedral town not far from Stirling which at the time seemed very relaxed, very friendly and very safe – except at Halloween when Jamie and I and our friends would go out with our pals and throw eggs at people's houses.

  I definitely cannot remember a time without Jamie, my elder brother by fifteen and a half months. That's relevant because growing up aged five, six, seven, eight, he was better than me at stuff purely because he was older, stronger and cleverer. It took me until I was ten to beat him at tennis and I've got a funny fingernail to prove it.

  We were playing in a national tournament for the Under-10s at Solihull when he was ten, and we both reached the final. I don't remember the match with any clarity, but what I do remember is coming back home with him on the minibus with all the Scottish players – there must have been about fifteen of us – and I was winding him up about beating him. Mum was driving. It was difficult for him to get away from it because I was sitting beside him at the time with my arm lying on the armrest. After about fifteen minutes of this, he'd had enough of my goading. He shouted at me and his fist came down on my hand. I got this huge whack on my finger which went black and blue and I had to go to the doctor's for a tetanus injection the next day. It never did grow back properly. So that was the first time I beat Jamie in competition and that was my return for it.

  I was obviously very competitive with him. That was why I started to hate – I still hate – losing so much. My whole tennis career happened purely because, when I was growing up, my big brother was much better than me at most things. He was better in school than me, he was better at tennis than me and even when we pretended to be professional wrestlers, he only ever let me win the Women's belts.

  My mum, my first tennis coach, will tell you that when I started playing tennis she thought I was useless. I was only about three or four and she used to spend hours throwing balls for me to hit. She says I kept missing whereas Jamie could do it right away. It wasn't really until I was about seven that I started to become noticeably better. I had bad concentration, bad coordination and a temper. It was not a good combination.

  Gran tells me that regardless of whether we were playing Snap, Monopoly or dominoes, I had to win at all costs. If I didn't, I'd storm off in a terrible huff. I don't believe any of this, but pretty much everyone in the family tells me the same thing. They even tell me that Jamie used to let me win things for a quiet life, but I don't believe that either. Maybe it would have been just to shut me up but I don't remember being that bad.

  I suppose I was what you might call 'vocal' on the tennis court when I was young. I have heard stories about me playing at a junior tournament in Edinburgh and the father of the guy I was playing was standing right behind the court, applauding my double faults and cheering when I hit the ball out. I was getting angrier and angrier. Mum and Gran had even started to edge away because they could see what was coming and wanted to pretend it was nothing to do with them.

  I suddenly snapped, turned round and slammed a ball into the netting where the man was standing. To all intents and purposes, I was smashing the ball straight at him. Of course, I got into trouble. The match was stopped, the referee was called and Gran said she could hear me, even though she was hiding, announce with some defiance: 'Well, I'm sorry, but I'm not sorry.'

  Gran and Grandpa played a big part in my life for lots of reasons. One was pure geography. We used to live about 200 yards from the Sports Club at Dunblane where the tennis courts were. Gran and Grandpa lived about 200 yards in the opposite direction. They used to pick us up from school, drive us to training, and feed us tea whenever Mum and Dad were out. Mum was usually working as a tennis coach by then and Dad worked for the retail company, R.S. McColl.

  I remember being around Gran a lot of the time. She ran a toy and children's clothes shop in Dunblane high street and we would often go there after school, play with the toys we didn't consider embarrassing and see if we could tease some money out of her for sweets. Most memorable were the car journeys we took together. We make jokes about her driving to this day. She used to indicate three miles before she had to turn off and I've never seen her overtake anyone. It always used to take a little bit longer to get anywhere in the car with Gran.

  Another reason they play such a significant part in our lives is probably their genes. Grandpa, Roy Erksine, had played for Hibernian Football Club in the 1950s with some of the biggest names in Scottish football at the time: Willie Ormond, Lawrie Reilly, Eddie Turnbull, Gordon Smith, Tommy Younger. Eventually he moved on to Stirling Albion (for £8 a week, and £1 a point), at the same time working as a qualified optician.

  There was sporting prowess on Gran's side of the family as well. She had an English father who for some reason was called Jock. Maybe it was because they lived in Berwick-on-Tweed, right on the Scottish border. Jock Edney was a brilliant sportsman. Gran says he was the Victor Ludorum of his school for three years running, which is obviously a good thing, but I've never been too sure what it means. I do know that he represented the county of Northumberland at athletics, cricket and tennis.

  Gran's mother was a Scot, an Anderson, and a gym and ballet teacher before her premature death when Gran was only thirteen. A great-uncle once traced the name back as far as he could go and found a connection with some Scandinavian called Anderssen, but I think it might be pushing it to see me descended from the Vikings just because of that.

  Gran was sent to boarding school in Scotland, which is how she met Grandpa and the first time she saw him was on a Sunday afternoon covered in mud from a football match. She remembers it clearly being a Sunday because his father was very strict and thoroughly disapproved of him playing football on the Sabbath. He did it anyway. Maybe that's where I get my independent streak from.

  Obviously growing up we all supported Hibs. I still do. We used to go and watch games pretty often when we were young. We even joined the Hibs Kids Club. I didn't enjoy it at first. I
t always seemed to be freezing cold and wet and everyone shouted and swore, but we got more into it over time.

  Grandpa is really nice and really funny but when we were younger, Jamie and I didn't always like him that much because he was pretty strict and used to wind us up so badly. He'd say things like: 'Tuck your shirt in' or 'Take your hat off.' No hats were allowed indoors. Once we got a bit older, it started to change and now we have a really good relationship with him, but he used to give us a lot of trouble when we were boys.

  He always loved dogs and he used to sit next to his Golden Retriever saying to her things like: 'Pathetic little boy, isn't he, Nina?' He also used to call me a 'little wart'. When I asked him why, he said, 'You are something I'd like to get rid of but can't.' Obviously, he didn't mean it – or at least I don't think he did. He was just teasing me. He still does it sometimes, but now I have the sense to laugh.

  He was really keen on collecting old stamps and envelopes as a hobby. I remember sitting in their living room watching cartoons after school and Grandpa would be in the other room at the huge table, fiddling about with his stamps. He is really into it still and is pretty much an expert in postal history. He didn't manage to get me interested though. Stamp collecting is definitely not my thing. I was more into football stickers and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

  I remember that dining table well for another reason: Gran's Christmas lunch. She's a great cook, although she doesn't ever make enough of it. It was fine when we were 10-year-olds but she's been making the same amount of food through the years and as Jamie and I have grown to 6'3", it seems as if it has got less and less. We've usually finished ours before she has served everyone else's.

  I've seen a few pictures of us as children. There is one on my website of Jamie and I wearing little Wimbledon tennis shirts with rackets in hand, but we weren't really playing tennis. In those days when we were really young, Mum would try and hit our legs with a soft ball and Jamie and I would use the rackets to try and stop it. She called it French cricket. We may have been on a tennis court a few times, but we didn't start properly until we were about five or six.

  I'm told my first tournament was in Dunblane when I was five and I went down south for the first time to play in an Under-10s event in Wrexham when I was six. My mum thinks it was a significant moment in my life even though it's a complete blank to me now. Apparently, I had lost two one-set matches to much older boys, but was leading 6–2 in the tiebreak of my final match when a drop shot I'd played bounced three times on my opponent's side of the net. As I walked up to shake hands, the guy smashed the ball past me and claimed the point. Nobody came to rescue the situation – we were playing without umpires – and I never won another point. I was absolutely distraught afterwards, but Mum reckons it toughened me up. I made sure nobody ever cheated me that badly again.

  I have vague memories of playing for the Dunblane Third Team when I was eight and my partner was a 51-year-old architect called John Clark. Gran tells me that after a couple of points, I went up to him and said: 'You're standing a bit close to the net. You should stand back a bit because I want to serve and volley and you'll get lobbed.'

  I used to play for the men's team quite often and travel around the Central District playing matches. I enjoyed it because it was more challenging than playing at the club with the other kids there, and I used to love beating the old men. They didn't like it so much though and some of them tried to introduce a rule at the district AGM that no kids under twelve were allowed to play in the men's leagues.

  The first tournament I remember winning was the Under-10s at Solihull when I was eight. That was where I would beat Jamie two years later. I always loved going down there. It must have been a nightmare to organise because it was held at seven different venues, with tournaments for the Under-10s to the Under-18s, plus singles and doubles. I know that is where I won my first prize money. £50 cash! I was so excited. I came straight home and splashed out on computer games.

  Everyone used to love it at Solihull. The courts were either side of a car park where it was cool for me and Jamie to hang out with the older boys. I must have liked it because I won there every year from age eight to twelve. I don't remember the score that first time when I was eight, but I know it was three sets and Jamie had a cold. He kept coughing. I accused him of doing it mid-rally to put me off. Somewhere we've got it on video. It is really funny watching yourself that young. I see things that I still do now. The fist-pump when I win points, getting angry when I lose points, the number of times I bounce the ball when I serve.

  I used to bleach my hair blond in those days and keep it really short. Sometimes it was spiky. Maybe I looked a bit like Bart Simpson. I used to have a red jumper with a big Bart on the front and there's a picture of me in it at my Mum's house with a cheeky grin and teeth missing.

  There are pictures of me and Abby too, my secret weapon when I was ten. She was blonde and cute, and whenever I played a tournament I used to cut off a lock of her hair to take with me for good luck. Abby was the Golden Retriever pup that Gran and Grandpa said was my dog, though she always lived at their house. She is still alive and Gran had her portrait painted one Christmas for my flat down in London. Although she is getting on a bit now; her good luck has held pretty true.

  At school I never really enjoyed studying. I loved doing sports, but you did so few of them. We only had about two hours a week. In the classroom I found it tough to concentrate when all I was thinking about was playing football or tennis or whatever it was. I always hated getting homework after doing so much work in class. It didn't seem fair.

  In the end, I took my exams in Spain not Scotland, when I was playing at the Sanchez-Casal Academy in Barcelona. I don't know what my exact grades were. I wasn't that interested. I did well in Maths and French. How I did well in French, I shall never know. You learn stuff you're never going to use, like what you have in your garden. I remember thinking at the time how ridiculous that was. When are you ever going to ask anyone about that?

  I had a lot of friends when I was growing up because I used to play football all the time. Even when I was ten I was trying to balance it with playing tennis. I loved it. I played striker or left midfield and when I was twelve I was actually playing more football than tennis. I spent a while playing for Gairdoch United, but the coach wouldn't put me in the team often because I couldn't make all the training sessions.

  They were a feeder team for Rangers and when I was thirteen I was offered a place at their Academy. I remember being told about it when I was eating at McDonald's. I thought, we all thought, that would be great. But then it came to crunch time. I was at tennis practice with my coach Leon Smith at the Stirling University courts and my dad came to pick me up after only forty-five minutes because I had to go to football. I just looked at Dad and said: 'I can't do this. I can't leave now. I want to go back and finish my practice,' and Dad said, 'Fine.' He never tried to stop me. I didn't play football for another seven months after that.

  I was a good footballer, but how was I to know whether I was the 1,000th best player in Britain or 10th best? There isn't a ranking system like there is in tennis. I preferred playing football at that age, but I didn't know how good I was. It is a risky business. It can come down to a scout's decision. If the day he comes to watch, you play badly, there might not be another chance. In tennis by that stage I'd won some competitions. I knew I was a good tennis player, one of the best in Europe, and that kind of swung my decision.

  I'd also been through a few times when I thought I wanted to stop playing tennis. I'd say to my mum: 'I don't want to play any more' and give up for a couple of weeks, but then I'd think: 'Maybe I do want to play after all.' I never got pushed into playing tennis which was good of my parents because they could see I had talent. Mum and Dad always said to me: 'As long as you're happy, that's the most important thing. As long as you are doing something.' They impressed on me that even if you're earning lots of money, it's no good if you are doing something you hate.

>   I'm sure that's why I stayed in tennis. Mum was a tennis coach but she was never pushy in any way. You hear so many stories of tennis parents pushing their kids to play every single day, three hours a day, home-schooling their kids, and it's tough. It works sometimes, but they might not necessarily be happy. In an individual sport like tennis you need to enjoy it to continue playing.

  Gradually we went to more and more tournaments, and the one that really stands out in my mind is the Orange Bowl I won in Miami when I was eleven. It was recognised as the unofficial World Championships for the Under-12s and it was the first time I'd ever left Europe.

  I went over there with Leon, first to prepare at the Harry Hopman School at Saddlebrook. I could hardly believe the place with its massive swimming pool, loads of courts and a golf course designed by Arnold Palmer – not to mention sunshine in December, which would be a pretty rare sight for a Scottish boy like me. It was awesome. I really enjoyed it.

  But funnily enough, though, the thing I most remember – maybe typically – is losing a practice match. I was playing a guy called Jose Muguruza. He was two years older than me and I lost a close set. I was really annoyed on the way back to the villa where Leon and I were staying with three other boys.

  'What's wrong with you? Why are you so annoyed?' Leon said. 'You don't see Pete Sampras and Andre Agassi getting like that on court, do you?'

  'It's because they are where I want to be and I won't be happy until I get there,' I replied.

  Maybe that was the fire that took me through the whole tournament. I don't think anybody really expected me to get that far. I know that because I didn't have enough clothes with me. When Mum and Gran came out to Miami to watch, the first thing they had to do was find a laundry somewhere and wash all my things.

  The Under-12s event was played in a public park, not glamorous at all, with a small clubhouse alongside and the crowd watching from the roof of the building. I could see Leon at one end of the roof and my mum at the other, because she doesn't like to talk to people when she's watching me. Gran was in the middle, sewing sponsors' labels on new shirts that she and Mum had run out to buy.