When looking down upon Centre Court, it is easy to construe the surface as some unearthly plain, to see the players who glide across it as some otherworldly beings. But truthfully, these are just people, and this is (glance over your shoulder, whisper it to a trusted friend) just grass.
In that same vein, Sir Andy Murray is merely a man. His faults prove that, even if his feats belie it. His clanging metal hip is a manmade accessory, not an astral invention. His brain ponders the ideal timing of a forehand and what awaits for dinner, not the bewildering basis of human existence and its place in the cosmos. Murray, like us, is human, no matter how many miracles he conjures on court. That is the reality.
Yet on the fourth night of Wimbledon, reality flickered in front of the Centre Court crowd and fizzled into something else altogether. This addictive, augmented reality read: ‘Andy Murray 6-7, 7-6, 6-4 Stefanos Tsitsipas.’
By Alex Pattle on Centre Court
The two-time champion’s clash with Stefanos Tsitsipas was paused as curfew loomed, with the Scot leading by two sets to one
