In the nicest way possible, I don’t want to see Andy Murray’s face again this year.
That isn’t a threat, nor are we on speaking terms anyway (although I’d happily relinquish this wish for a round of golf), but seriously, let news of his split with Novak Djokovic be the last we hear from Murray until 2026.
Allow me to explain.
Tennis is relentless. Take Murray’s annus mirabilis, 2016, when he grafted his way to the summit of the world rankings.
His singles campaign started in Melbourne and ended in London, taking in five continents along the way, including a jaunt down to Rio de Janeiro to defend his Olympic title in between Wimbledon and the US Open.
Just counting tournament to tournament, Murray clocked more than 60,000 miles that year – some two-and-a-half times around the world – and yet he barely saw anything that wasn’t a hotel, airport or tennis court.
Get the violin out, many will say, especially as Murray picked up more than £10m in 2016 alone, but tennis is undeniably exhausting, boasting arguably the most demanding schedule of any sport – mainly because of the travel.
