I REALLY wish I could embrace Andy Murray. Not literally, of course. I’m quite sure I’m not his type, being more than twice his age and less than athletic in build; but even if I were, I don’t think I’d enjoy the experience.

Murray may have muscles these days, but I find it a distressingly stringy business when he decides to demonstrate the fact.

However, it is figuratively that I’d like to take him to my heart. Murray is, after all, a bona fide British hero, having fought his way through to the finals of a Grand Slam tennis competition.

Indeed, on Monday night he came as close as anyone has to becoming the first Brit since Fred Perry to win such an event – surely a cause for celebration and a reason to honour one of those rare Britons who has at last tapped in to what is necessary in order to become a world-beating sportsman.

For decades, tennis fans in this country have been forced to witness the misery of a succession of home-grown hopefuls who have been set up only to be pitilessly knocked down by cool, calm champions from all over the world.

Through John Lloyd, Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski, there has been no shortage of nice young men who have taken to the tennis court only to leave it with their tails between their legs.

It’s been as though we Brits were just too polite to win, defeated as much as anything else by the overwhelming urge to say, “after you, old chap” whenever a gleaming trophy hove temptingly into view.

But now at last has come Murray. He’s a bloke that can be accused of one or two failings; but being too nice is not one of them. Fair enough, he did lose the US Open, but he did not lose it through reticence. Roger Federer won it, through playing like a dream.

I know it is perverse that my heart did not sing at the idea of backing Murray as he stepped out to face the challenge of his life so far. Niceness has got us nowhere much, after all.

Yet the fact is, for me, it would be easier to back him if he’d met Nadal in the final, because there’s another young man who inspires awe, but not much warmth.

You can’t help but marvel at his prowess, but Nadal, with his shirts cut without sleeves to show biceps which in his case at least are genuinely rippling, does not make you feel you need to support him on his certain path to glory.

But Nadal was, remarkably, shoved aside by Murray this week. On Monday night it was Federer who stood between him and the title, and that, my friends, was the problem.

In spite of his magical talent, his years as the undisputed king of the tennis court and his penchant for dodgy monogrammed gear, Roger Federer somehow manages to remain cool under pressure, charming in victory and graceful in his rare moments of defeat. The way he lost to Nadal after an extraordinary final at Wimbledon this year was exemplary. He is, in short, both a winner and a gent.

Thinking back, all this reminds me of the way Team GB behaved and performed in the Olympics last month. I had no problem getting behind Chris Hoy or Rebecca Adlington, two sporting stars who combine talent, desire and grace.

These days, it does matter whether you win or lose: but how you play the game remains important, too.