Murray's last tango in Paris... how apt for this ultimate team player that his farewell to tennis should be at Olympic Games, writes Hugh MacDonald

The mesmerising dance is nearing an end. The last tango will be in Paris. The Murray retirement saga now has its final scene.

It is entirely appropriate that it will be held in the shadow of the five rings and in the shirt of Team GB. Murray, a sporting historian as well as a playing great, has a profound respect for the Olympics and a natural urge to play for a team.

The loneliness of a player facing doubt, enduring pain and confronting greatness on the other side of the net can be assuaged by being part of a larger whole.

Murray relished this in London, Rio and, indeed, Ghent where he led Great Britain to a Davis Cup triumph in 2015.

When examining Murray the individual and his frankly absurd triumphs, the notion of help and inspiration from others is all-pervading. He pays due tribute to all of this. 

He came from a family where his mother was an excellent player and a remarkable coach. His father was a highly competitive, if recreational, sportsman. Murray, too, had an elder sibling who provided almost daily competition.

His relentless advance in the tennis world owed much to his talent, drive and commitment. But he was never shy to praise his team, which grew to include a manager, physio, conditioning staff and coaches. 

Murray was always warmed by the sentiment that his team were all in it together. It made him an example, a leader and an inspiration for the Davis Cup team. It pushed him to Olympic glory.

The news that he will not play beyond Paris is hardly surprising. However, the statement he issued was revelatory, even dramatic. ‘Competing for (Team GB) have been far the most memorable weeks of my career and I’m extremely proud to get do it one final time,’ he said.

What? Better than two weeks of winning Wimbledon? Twice? Better than two weeks of winning the US Open? Better than that week in Ghent? Better than that week in London where he cuffed Novak Djokovic to win the world tour title and solidified his place as world No 1?

There is no doubting Murray’s sincerity in making the assertion. Appreciating its validity lies in realising what is important to the Scot and how the Olympics provides an apt insight into his career and his motivations.

He relished playing for history. He was always asked how he felt about competing in the era of three of the greatest players ever. He relished it. It made his achievements even more creditable. It was the acme of competition. It provided an unnecessary but welcome lustre to victory.

He also had an appreciation of wider sport. Murray is a boxing fan, with a profound knowledge of the sport. He enjoys football, most particularly using his knowledge to win fantasy leagues. The NBA provides a similar outlet. 

He is interested in the wider sporting world. The Olympics chimes with this fascination for sport as a means to test oneself, to be part of history.

However, the Olympics also played a huge part in the personal Murray story. His achievement includes three Grand Slams and a Davis Cup triumph, as well as reaching world No 1 and winning the tour finals. He has succeeded at junior, Challenger and ATP level. But it is possible to cite the Olympics as the gem in this feast of riches.

On August 5, 2012, Murray thrashed Roger Federer 6-2, 6-1, 6-4 to win Olympic gold at Wimbledon. Later that afternoon, he won a mixed doubles silver with Laura Robson, also on Centre Court.

The triumph over Federer was the most important in the Scot’s career. Only weeks before, Murray had cried after another defeat in a Grand Slam final. Federer had defeated him on Centre Court. Was Murray fated to be the plucky loser forever? He had lost five consecutive finals in the majors, three of them to the Swiss genius.

Yet the King of Grass was vanquished at the Olympics on Centre Court. Weeks later, Murray won his first grand slam, defeating Novak Djokovic at the US Open in New York. HIs first Wimbledon triumph would arrive the following summer.

However, the London 2012 victory was not merely viewed as the catalyst to greater triumph. Murray cherished it for what it was in itself. The day after his Olympic win he could reflect that a gold and a silver medal hung at the bottom of his bed. 

He knew he had achieved what many athletes devote their lives towards. He was grateful for that. The pressure on winning a grand slam had perhaps diminished. Murray had something to show for the physical pain and the mental anguish.

The Olympics, too, also showed him at his very best. He carried the flag at Rio in 2016 where, of course, he also won gold. He described this, too, as an honour but it was an indication of how he had risen in the esteem of the public. 

Murray was always a hero in his own land but was greeted by some scepticism south of the border. His popularity grew not just with regularity of his triumphs but with an understanding of what mattered to the Scot and how he pursued it. 

The carrying of the flag was a recognition of the respect and affection he held in the eyes of his team-mates and the wider world.

It could be said that the gold in 2012 intimated the greatness to come and the gold in 2016 hinted at the inevitable decline, with injury an almost ever-present since. But both achievements revealed Murray to the world in other more significant ways. 

Yes, his playing style was to be lauded. Federer was frankly dismissed in 2012 but the titanic struggle with Juan Martin del Potro in 2016 carried the Murray DNA. In four hours and two minutes on a broiling hard court, Murray and the Argentinian traded blows in the sort of battle that can normally only be seen on canvas and constrained by ropes. Del Potro sobbed when he lost, Murray sobbed as he won.

This was sport at its most elemental. This was sport at its most stark. Murray and Del Potro had clashed years before, but here was mutual respect. Two men had climbed a mountain. Only one could carry the flag. 

The staples of Murray’s game were on show. The Scot tried to demolish the Tower of Tandil with his diabolical slice, his deft lob and his array of power shots. Del Potro had, of course, defeated Rafael Nadal and Djokovic en route to the final. He stood tall until he was finally downed. 

The match was over in four sets and yet, such was its relentless, draining nature, that one might have called for a referee to stop it on humanitarian terms.

It served as an unnecessary reminder that nothing was easy for Murray. He was once pilloried for losing in Grand Slam finals. It should be noted that the only players to beat Murray in those encounters were Federer and Djokovic. 

It should also be mentioned that Murray had to beat Djokovic to win two of his Grand Slams. Milos Raonic was the other victim (Wimbledon 2016) and the Canadian was fearsome on grass, almost unplayable if his serve fired.

Murray, then, had to beat the best to be the best. It suited his nature. His greatest early triumph was to beat his brother in a junior competition. Jamie was a terrific junior, earmarked for the very top. 

The joy of Andy’s victory was obviously enhanced by sibling rivalry but it was marked by the realisation that he had beaten the odds, confounded expectations, thrived when the competition was sweetly sharp.

Murray as a child was proficient in all racquet sports, enjoyed a game of golf and was talented as a footballer to the extent he was on trial at Rangers, with the possibility arising that he could follow his grandfather, Roy Erskine, and play the game professionally. He was immersed in sport, besotted by competition.

The Olympics, then, was not a foreign land but a terrain he recognised instinctively and exulted in watching, whether it was swimmers in the pool, runners on track, boxers in the ring or others pushing themselves to the limits in other less familiar disciplines. 

He always fancied being a part of that. The re-introduction of tennis as an Olympic sport in 1984 was to prove timely for the sporting obsessive.

It became a priority for the Scot. In 2008, he lost in the first round in the Beijing Olympics to Lu Yen-Hsun of Taipei. It was another nod to the Murray narrative. Golds followed in the two subsequent Olympics but, first, desperate defeat had to be endured.

The most significant story of the Olympics and Murray, though, is his attitude towards the event rather than his triumphs. The taking part tells more than the taking of gold.

Murray always played for the love of the game. There was passion in this. Obsession, too. But there was always the blessed appreciation that he was doing something he loved.

The Olympic ideal is that of the amateur and, in modern times, this has been seen to have become an outdated irrelevance. It is not. The term amateur has been taken to mean someone who plays without financial reward. Its derivation, though, comes from the Latin word for love. This is pertinent to Murray.

In 2016, Murray’s struggle with Del Potro and, indeed, his progress to gold in draining conditions fatally undermined any attempt to win the US Open weeks later. Murray was aware of this downside. 

However, he went to Rio, carried the flag, and tried his damnedest. And he loved all of it. Many would, and do, prioritise the slams and the glory and money they offer.

But not the Scot. The consummate professional is also a dedicated amateur.

At 37, he has decided to play his last shot at a global event that celebrates sport of all disciplines and embraces those who make millions in their day jobs or those who have day jobs to make the Olympics. This is not accidental.

The last hurrah has found a fitting stage.