If it must be done, then let it be done with care, even agony, and with every facet of exquisite pain and drama explored. Executing it when we presumed they were finished. There’s ache in his joints and a weight in his stride, yet as Andy Murray celebrates his victory at precisely 10:30 p.m. local time, he resembles a child once more: the child who first swung a racket with passion, the child who first tasted the pure elation of triumph.
Murray and Dan Evans stepped into the night with not just gentleness, but with fervor and a clear intent to return to the fray another day. This, in many ways, encapsulates Murray’s prolonged farewell from the sport; a steadfast refusal to leave the stage until he deems it fitting, a commitment to extract every last drop of talent from his body.
As he and Evans rallied from two match points down in a decisive tie-break, there seemed to be a stubborn resolve within them, a refusal to let the finale occur at a half-filled Court Suzanne-Lenglen against Belgium’s world No. 35s. His mind remains sharp, his body just barely holding up, and the search for two more wins for a fourth Olympic medal continues.
Naturally, one might question the significance of this all, whether there is value in glorifying a retirement that began over five years ago, marked by that emotional press conference in Melbourne, followed by a sentimental farewell tribute orchestrated by the Australian Open.
Through surgeries and gradual retreats from the pinnacle of the sport, along with his withdrawal from Wimbledon and an increasing feeling of anticlimax, Murray has been in a state of retirement in slow motion for half a decade, making halts longer than the Eras Tour. His retirement itself has transformed into a distinct narrative arc. He expresses frustration at online articles chronicling his decline, and his mother, Judy, publicly chastises Emma Raducanu for daring to prioritize her own career over Murray’s farewell celebrations. This is the last aspect he can influence, and when the fall is the only option left, it acquires immense significance.
Murray and the Olympics share a unique affinity. There were some raised eyebrows when he withdrew from the singles just before the draw, necessitating that the organizers substitute him with world No 1199 Robin Haase. However, this decision stemmed from a practical understanding—a flickering aspiration, easily dismissed as fanciful, to conclude his career atop the podium. According to Evans, the subject of retirement has not even come up since their arrival in Paris.
Andy Murray’s retirement seems to have begun more than five years ago, when he gave that tearful press conference in Melbourne. Photograph: Ed Alcock/The Guardian
Yet they first faced a long wait. Every match on Lenglen seems to stretch on endlessly. When Carlos Alcaraz and Rafael Nadal finally departed to roaring applause, it was nearly 8:30 p.m., the oppressive heat still lingering, the stands largely deserted—the sporting equivalent of leftover oranges after a lavish Chinese feast. More cheers were heard from Court Seven, where the French team of Diane Parry and Caroline Garcia were competing in the women’s doubles. This match was relegated to the red button, as BBC One aired the swimming events. It all felt ominous.
But none of this truly fazes Murray. He readily participated in smaller 250 and Challenger tournaments to regain his form, despite having four children, more wealth than he could ever deplete, and a hip prosthetically composed of cobalt. The game has always been paramount. Alongside Evans, he secures an early break, dominates the initial set, and clinches it with a stunning display of lobs.
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In between the points, it’s Evans who injects the jittery, intense spirit into their pairing, akin to Miles Kane to Murray’s Alex Turner. He yells, grumbles, and occasionally hits himself on the head with his racket. During a second set that steadfastly remains on serve, their focus begins to wane. Murray, having lost much of the sharpness behind his serve, double-faults, while Evans also double-faults, leading to the loss of the set.
At 9-7 down, exhaustion and heaviness begin to set in, signaling a potential end. A slow, painful shuffle; the familiar crouch and sway. But then Evans fires a first serve to bring it to 9-8, followed by a clever return from Murray leveling it to 9-9. Evans then delivers a return aimed directly at Joran Vliegen, bringing up match point. Murray serves, Evans smashes, and suddenly a quarter of Suzanne-Lenglen erupts, once again resonating with the sounds of Murray.
British tennis has anxiously awaited the onset of the post-Murray era for nearly a decade. The premonitions of what it will entail remain unclear, even to Murray. Perhaps this is the reason why, when he senses the end approaching, something within him recoils and resists, much like an individual desperately trying to evade the brink of their worst fears. In these poignant moments, it becomes painfully clear: this choice was not his; he is not ready for this to conclude. And neither are we.
