Wasn’t it fantastic to get an all-too-rare glimpse of Andy Murray’s teeth after he dispensed of his Grand virginity this week?
By eventually running over the jelly legs of Novak Djokovic in the US Open final, he was able to bust the padlock on the winner’s grin after years of concealment behind those pursed and furry lips.
It’s hard not to be happy for the bloke, even though he did make us wait slightly longer to witness the emotion in the aftermath of the match due to a more pressing concern regarding the location his wristwatch.
After enduring years of bland, glory-free existence tempered with an excessively hot girlfriend, regular tour victories, Olympic gold and caaaaaaaaaash, he can now finally live mega-chuffed in the knowledge that the weight of a bulky Union Jack has been removed from his back.
So what was the catalyst for the morose Scot to finally advance from perennial podium cryer to smiling Slam champ, replete with sponsored chronometer?
Some would say it was the absence of the usual business-end roadblocks in Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal that greased the passage to the title.
Many tennis aficionados have also attributed the win to the treasured momentum created by his fairy tale victory at the Olympics in front of his people.
But what about some kind of mystical X-factor moment that gave Murray that extra intangible something? A bolt of inspiration providing a hydraulic-lift to the psyche and instilling him with some patriotic gusto?
Something tells me the timely visit from two of the biggest hounds in Scotland after his semi-final win was the moment the trophy was engraved with his name.
As Murray hurtled down the well-worn path from semis success to probable last hurdle failure, a couple of tartan icons in Sean Connery and Sir Alex Ferguson decided that they would take it upon themselves to arrest the unbroken sequence of major tournament heartache he found himself in.
Identifying Murray’s eternal ‘human sedative’ disposition as the common thread amid all of his failure, these members of the Scottish glitterati decided an impromptu visit to lift his spirits was the order of the day, so they gate-crashed his press conference after his win over Tomas Berdych.
The sullen manner of the surly right-hander was powerless to the charms of the two imposing personalities, as they got to work like a couple of cheery grandpas.
Reports are unconfirmed as to the exact detail of what was said at the time, however there are rumours that Ferguson regaled Murray with various tales of his torment of famous English footballers, while Connery repeatedly stated in his weighted accent, “7-6 7-6 7-6”, before floating the offer of, “schooners in Soho on Sunday”.
There were some special gifts given also, with Connery handing over some movie memorabilia, including a spy timepiece from his days on-set, which Murray particularly cherished. Ferguson then followed suit by showing him the watch he owns that controls injury time at Old Trafford, although that was strictly for looking and not touching.
Then, when a signed copy of ‘The Rock’ was flashed, Murray was enchanted toast. The weight of another expected Open failure was temporarily lifted from his shoulders as he momentarily became a starry-eyed youngster in the company of legends.
Could this have been the moment where Murray’s pearly white smile had a partial reveal on the way to the big victory beamer after the final?
Murray’s entourage are sure to make it a priority at the next Grand Slam that a minimum of two worldly and rich Scottish celebrities are on hand to give him a small moment of mirth and buoyancy. And presents.
The perpetual despondency the man exists in requires only the best bunch of good luck-human flowers to drive his performance to the next rung. No low-rent flavours of the month and no over-zealous politicians looking for a photo opportunity. Just the icons.
Susan Boyle is on standby for Australia in January. Get ready for some more happy fangs.
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