The name’s Murray, Andy Murray, licensed (at last) to win Grand Slams and still be a surly sod, although no longer a Scottish one as he’s now a winner.
The two Caledonian knights of the realm in the shape of Alex Ferguson and Sean Connery cheered oor Andy onto glory at the US Open in the wee small hours of Tuesday morning.
Yes as the best James Bond looked on, although looking more like OAP07 nowadays, there was indeed a licence to thrill for Andy as he beat the living daylights without even a quantum of solace for Novak Djokovic.
I also have a list here with Thunderball, From Russia with Love-forty and Live and Let Die on it here but I think it would cheapen me if I used it.
But for every hero you need a villain and preferably eastern European but Novak is nice so thankfully Ivan Lendl was there. Normally he looks like the Terminator’s slightly moody brother but if it’s scary you want then mammy Murray has no equal.
A slightly camp-sounding German also helps in Bond and the bold Boris Becker is just the man as he turned up in the commentary box three games into the match having caught a cab from Sky’s vantage point somewhere else in the Big Apple.
“I was never a quick starter but I wasn’t a nervous one and I knew the longer I went the better I would get,” he said, as Mark Petchey and Peter Fleming, shuffled nervously in their seats wondering how to get out of the cupboard.
And then suddenly Boris was gone. I nipped into the kitchen for a banana and a quick glass of barley water and he’d disappeared and never returned.
A cackling Lendl and Mrs Murray may hold the answers but this was not a night for recriminations or finger-pointing, this was Andy’s moment of glory but spare a though for Boris, stuck in a cupboard somewhere in New York.
You will be missed. I’m sure.