As imagined by Brian Beacom

YES, now you can truly say that Boris Becker has feet of clay, but that’s not appropriate really, is it? I never won a major on clay, but I suppose the phrase ‘feet of grass’ doesn’t sound so catchy.

And two and a half years in the pokey for sticking money away for a rainy day? Well, I’d like a little understanding of why because these rainy days have emerged from my relationship failures.

Yes, I’ve earned £38m in my career – but any man who’s ever been through a tricky divorce will realise that won’t even touch the sides.

And there are the offspring to pay for. Conceive a child on the staircase of a London restaurant – not a broom cupboard as claimed – and the lawyers immediately serve up papers demanding a top flat in Chelsea.

But time in prison? Don’t you think I’ve been punished enough in my life? Losing to Edberg in the 1990 Wimbledon final? Being caught out claiming I was the Central African Republic’s envoy, even though I’d never put a tennis shoe on its soil?

As you could see, I even wore my lucky Wimbledon ties to court. But the only way you get away with being jailed for tax evasion in Britain is if you turn up at court surrounded by Diddymen and claiming your address to be Knotty Ash.

And think of this; who amongst us hasn’t evaded a little tax? Didn’t you once claim expenses for a lunch with Marti Pellow, Mr Beacom, when in reality it was that very attractive blonde girl from marketing?

But you know tennis. You understand the mindset. And that’s why you’ll appreciate the charges against me, of removal of assets, concealment of funds and failing to declare assets were really not about tax evasion, but more about the way we play the game itself.

We have to go on court having removed all fear from our minds. We have to conceal the shots we are about to play. We have to avoid declaring what we have in the bank, so as not to advantage opponents.

Yes, I’ve earned well in my career on and off the court. And I’ve lived up to my nickname of Boom Boom Boris, always attacking the bank loan, chipping and charging the new cars and apartments to my Amex.

But what I am is an honest man who simply had an honest reason for spending so much money. I enjoy it.

I love to have the nice cars. I loved to live in Monaco, the home in Switzerland and the villa in Mallorca. And where do you expect a six-time Grand Slam winner to live? In a council flat in Possil? And remember; the Wimbledon flat cost £20k a month, but it was handy for my work.

Yes, I’m in the grand slammer, but not beaten. And I can accept my fate and the book deal. Remember that old tennis quote? To err is human. To blame someone else is doubles.