We will miss you, Sir Andy. You were always one of us

It’s also because your tennis has been all too often sublime, the double-handed backhand more beautiful than Elizabeth Olsen, the slice as teasing as a seaport siren.

But the love comes from how you’ve altered the representation of what it was to be Scottish. Once a pale-faced skinny Scots kid with hints of ginger in your hair you’ve grown up to become a pale-faced six three’ muscle-bound man whom a nation can literally look up to, who’s confirmed that being Scottish doesn’t not mean we have to be small, literally and figuratively.

Yes, you may have been a little surly, moody and dour. Yes, you may have been something of an awkward teenager - but isn’t that a teenager’s job?

Possibly Scotland's greatest ever sportsman (Image: free)

You may have a voice that sounds like Deacon Brodie, or a corpse emitting its last breath of air, but that’s because you’ve grown up in a land where the only change in the summer weather pattern is that the rain warms a little.

You, Andy Murray, developed in a part of the world that commands and insists upon emotional restraint. And how can we learn to show our feelings when we’re trapped indoors and forced to watch Taggart? We didn’t learn salsa, we learned ceilidh dancing, (which displays endeavour rather than joy.)

Gabby Logan once joked that you were the “moodiest, most miserable bastard” she’d interviewed, and implied that you have the countenance of a character in a Robert Louis Stevenson novel. But she didn’t factor in that that you had to learn how to project a personality rapidly, going from playing in front of 15 people on a Futures tournament one minute to 15,000 the next. And I’m certain Logan didn’t realise that this hint of darkness in the soul only helped you to reach out to the light, to continually want to improve, to grow character - and your ability to take on Novak and skelp his backside.

Yes, we’ve loved to watch you develop in every way. Which of us didn’t laugh out loud during your 2015 Sports Person of the Year acceptance speech when you said that you’d read an article saying you were ‘duller than a weekend in Worthing’ - then added you thought ‘it was a bit harsh on Worthing.’ And it revealed you’ve grown up on porridge and self-deprecation, in a country that not only doesn’t always encourage success, but often vilifies those who openly pursue it.

But you did chase the tennis dream, Andy, and boy did you make it happen. You learned how to construct points the way a master builder constructs a Venetian palace, develop a game plan that’s more cat and mouse than a Tom and Jerry classic. And you beat the greatest of opponents under the most adverse of circumstances, from incredible heat to the wind of New York to surly commentators.

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And we love you because you had Judy to contend with. Yes, she led you onto those blaes courts at Dunblane and hit a million balls at you in the freezing rain, but how hard must it have been to have a mum more showbiz than Mama Rose over your shoulder?

Yes, you upset the media at times, but only because they didn’t get your Scottish sarcasm. Okay, half the nation took a petted lip when you hinted at your leaning towards independence. But how can we not love a man with a strong thought in his head? If we wanted a tennis player who simply chipped predictable anodyne shots across the net, we’d be listening to Tim Henman, or Sue Barker.

No. We wanted your toughness. Who can’t admire a man who punches his knuckles onto racket string so hard and so often that blood is drawn? Who can’t gaze in awe at a man who may love a good moan, which is part of our national predilection, yet can still contend with an astonishing level of personal injury – to ankle, pelvis, groin, back, hip, (surgery twice), elbow and knee – that suggest a stint in the Donbas rather than hitting a bat and ball over a three feet net?

And we loved how you (inadvertently) gave us the opportunity to laugh at the hoity-toity entirely enabled Virginia Wade when she mentally defaulted the conversation after having the affrontery to suggest that you were a drama queen, after you cited back pain. (Virginia, how can you not love a man who can serve at 140mph when he can’t put his socks and shoes on?) It’s that sort of resilience and guts that saw you put eight Slam defeats behind you before finally winning.

Go on my sons, Judy Murray is Andy and Jamie's biggest fans (Image: free)

But you’ve shown guts in so many other ways. You were the first male pro to hire a female coach in Amelie Mauresmo. You declared yourself a feminist. You support same sex marriage, and you’ve taken the knee, and we love that you never considered becoming a tax exile. Ace, Andy!

Yet, here’s what we’ve truly loved about you, Andy Murray. You’ve shown that Scottishness is not a hindrance but a contributing factor to becoming our greatest ever sporting success story. It’s given you the philosophy that life isn’t always fair. (If it were you would have had a better second serve) And in taking us close to success many times, you’ve taught us that sometimes you have to go to five sets many times over before you may make an impact.

We will miss you, Sir Andrew Barron Murray. But at the same time, we know you’re not really going anywhere. Like a Rod Stewart lyric line, you’re in my heart, you’re in my soul. Because you stir our emotions, our pride, because you suggest you are each one of us, fallible yet fearsome. Insecure yet courageous. Battle tough, yet a tennis warrior yet able to drop tears when you lose to Roger.

Thanks Andy.

And lots of love