Andy Murray: Waiting game

Well done, Mr Murray; a thousand plaudits. If you, the reader, are reading this earlyish, you've probably got the telly on, wondering whether he can become the first British man to win a grand slam since the 1936 Fred Perry triumph. Seventy-five years is a long time in tennis. He'll be making an unforced error about… now. After inventing several new swearwords, he'll be bolting a whirligig of an unanswerable ace about… now. He'll be making the grimace, the one that scares sharks about… now. Did he win? Oh, we'll tell you in a sec. But first, please, let's celebrate the fact he has matured from a truculent teen into a player of often unassailable prowess and, though he still doesn't suffer fools gladly, his off-court appearances often now show bone-dry wit and warmth: he is becoming a grand ambassador for these isles and giving us a reason to love watching tennis again, with mild hope rather than despair. Oh yes: did he win? Thanks to the dateline lag, the wonders of the internet and a few of the darker secrets of the journalistic trade, we can tell you that he