Murray mania hits

LONDON – Murray, Murray, Murray, Murray, Murray ... is this getting old?

All I’ve been hearing about for the past week has been Andy Murray. The Scottish tennis star – ranked No. 3 in the world – is Britain’s best hope for winning Wimbledon.

Being in London during Wimbledon is a special experience, especially when the English have someone to support. Fred Perry was the last British man to win – in 1936.

Just as baseball fans are aware of the Cubs’ search for their first World Series ring since 1908, tennis fans are reminded of the UK’s drought every summer.

It’s ironic that a country that has produced the oldest tennis tournament in the world hasn’t had a champion since about the time Murray’s grandparents were born.

Before Murray, the Brits rooted for Tim Henman, who never advanced to the finals before retiring in 2007.

But Murray’s rise has lifted the hearts of the British, especially in June after he won the Aegon Championships at Queen’s Club. Again, he was the first Brit to win it since 1938.

The possibility of Murray winning has taken over the country. Pizza Express (the British chain, not the Indiana one) has even made a pizza version of Murray. He’s been on magazine covers and dominated newspaper headlines.

What’s funny to me is that Murray is Scottish, a nationality yearning to be independent from England. Just as the English have the British Museum – full of relics from other countries – their hopes rest on someone who doesn’t really belong.

I can understand the British want one of their own to win their most prestigious event. But at the same time, don’t they want the best man to win? Since Rafael Nadal withdrew because of injury, Roger Federer is the highest–ranked player left in the tournament. If the final remaining two are Federer and Murray, the public will undoubtedly root for the latter.

Just as in any sport, fans root for their favorite. But sometimes you need to let go of your attachment and root for the sport. It’s harder to appreciate the sport if you’re hoping the opponent will play badly.

I’m not saying the British should cheer for Federer, but I hope they cheer for a good, spirited match, one that comes down to five sets and endless match points.

Because despite the Pimm’s, strawberries and cream and formal attire, Wimbledon is still a game for everyone, not just those enclosed on an island.

I’ll have flown home before the men’s finals Sunday. I’ll be far away from the crowded pubs as the people watch for a historic win. I won’t go into work the next morning and hear my coworkers talking about whoever wins. I won’t be handed free papers on the Tube where I can read about the results.

But with my sweet tea, barbecue and hot weather, I’ll watch the match, only cheering for the game.