ANDY MURRAY'S AMERICAN SCREAM

THIS column is not in the habit of taking a pop at mothers.

Cheats, charlatans, chisellers, yes. Posers, prats, prima donnas, absolutely. But not caring, devoted parents. Especially ones who are talented, eloquent and media-friendly.

But I have to say that the sight of Judy Murray screaming like a banshee in that God-forsaken families, coaches, hangers-on, eye-candy box that is on our screens more often than Jonathan Ross was slightly unedifying.

It made you long for good old Tim Henman's pop.

Remember him? Can't recall his name - doubt I ever knew it. But he was the sort of guy who probably took to the marital bed with a perfect Windsor knot.

I swear that in 10 years of watching his son play out incredible drama, he never uttered a word. Under his breath, he might have mentioned what a damn fine drop shot it was - regardless of whether the architect was his son or his opponent.

He made one of Madame Tussaud's creations look like a nervous, twitching wreck. But I liked him a lot.

And hopefully, he would have agreed with my idea for the technical innovation that should follow the roof. Dismantle that Ray Ban-infested pen.

It will never happen. Instead, we will have to tolerate Team Murray and the like.

Ridiculous

Team Murray? Where did this ridiculous phrase come from?

En route to meeting Kevin Pietersen last week, I dropped in on Michael Vaughan's farewell press conference.

Hugh Morris - the ECB boss - thanked Vaughan for his contribution to Team England.

What? What? I assume he meant the England team. It's pretentious nonsense. A bit like the phrase 'It's a big ask'. Anyhow, I digress. Back to Team Murray. They sit there in a subservient line, not looking like they are enjoying proceedings one iota.

Just looking like weak parents fearfully waiting to hear angry little Andy scream at them because they won't let him stay out and play.

A sychophantic receptacle for his petulance. Fluff a simple backhand, scream at Miles whatever-his-name-is - the coach who will inevitably go the way of Mark Petchey and Brad Gilbert.

It's all part of the Murray experience. And, although it's a big ask, let's be brutally honest here. There's not a great deal to love about it.

Murray has employed David Beckham's PR people to improve his image. But face it, he could employ Mother Theresa's spin doctor and still be unlovable.

He has surliness down to an art form. He is the man who puts the mono into tone. He's duller than cloud cover. He can't even grow proper stubble. You warm to him like you warm to income tax.

But so what?

Ruthless

He may not be lovable but his approach to professional sport is thoroughly likeable.

He may not be adorable but his ruthless determination to be the best he can is totally admirable.

Every member of Team Murray has been recruited for a reason - to help him wring every last drop out of his massive talent.

And regardless of friendly football kickabouts and common-room forfeit games, when Murray senses their assistance has been exhausted, he will despatch them as though putting away a simple overhead.

When I saw Murray hold court after Friday's defeat, I became more convinced than ever that here was a young man destined to be a great. Destined to be one of Britain's highest-achieving sportsmen.

Murray was a gracious loser but not a generous one. That would be a sign of weakness. And he doesn't do signs of weakness.

His backhand - in the compliment sense - works as well off court as it does between those tramlines.

If he said that Andy Roddick served great once, he said it a thousand times, pointedly not referring to any other aspect of the American's game.

In fact, pointing out that he had hit twice as many winners, Murray was basically explaining his defeat thus: A bloke with a puncher's chance came out swinging against a craftsman of the ring and had a day when he connected.

Faint praise was not restricted to Roddick.

"I think Federer has a good return. I don't think it's that incredible," he said. Good? Not that incredible? The bloke is about to win his 15TH Grand Slam.

Sworn

Murray, more than anyone, is aware of that. But these guys are his sworn enemies. And he is not going to show the slightest hint of vulnerability.

No sooner had he netted his final shot at Wimbledon this year than he was plotting his next attempt to dethrone the usual suspects at the US Open.

No tears, no emotions, no regrets. Just a steely-eyed determination to get better. From a British athlete, it was a pleasure to behold.

And he will win a Grand Slam title. Soon. I know because of one word that - amidst a considered, eloquent analysis of his defeat - was spat out with disdain.

Q: "Will you be able to move on from this?"

A: "If you lose one match and let it ruin your year, that's a PATHETIC attitude to have."

And they are HIS capital letters. Pathetic might as well have been a fly in his mouth.

He will move on. In the same way that he put himself through a month's gruelling fitness work in the heat of Florida because he thought his physical condition had let him down in last year's US Open final against Federer, he will move on.

And he will arrive at Flushing Meadows - a place with which he has so much affinity that you cannot help but believe he doesn't really like stuffy Wimbledon that much - stronger, wiser, even better prepared to win his first Slam.

I, for one, would not back him against him doing it in old New York. And if he does it there, then he will do it anywhere.

Now get the News of World print edition for more from Andy Dunn

• YAWN ON THE 4TH OF JULY
• ANDY RODDICK AIMS TO SPOIL FED'S PARTY
• PETE SAMPRAS SALUTE TO ROGER FEDERER
• Andy Murray reveals his battle with the monkey on his back
• ANDY MURRAY FEELS THE HEAT
• ROGER FEDERER STILL HUNGRY
• Why John Terry should go | Move would be great for football
• TIGER WOODS NEEDS A LESSON IN MANNERS

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