It was the kind of searing, humid summer’s day when lifelong memories are forged, when the sights, sounds and the pulsating sensations were the building blocks of an unforgettable experience.

At the centre of it all was an expert craftsman, cementing the structure together with careful, studied, determination and furious endeavour.

Andy Murray’s explosively cathartic final victory at Wimbledon in 2013 - making him the first British man to with the tournament in almost 80 years and the first in the open era - will live long in the thoughts and sentiments of any Scot who witnessed it.

As Djokovic’s return hit the net in the final, match-winning point, the image of Murray dropping his racket and removing his cap, pumping the air with both fists, roaring into the sky with his face contorted with unrepressed joy, remains one of the great sporting moments.

While “greatness” may be subjective, and moments of greatness all about context, for me at least, Murray’s win ranks with Muhammad Ali coming off the ropes to pummel George Foreman in 1974; Diego Maradona’s second goal against England at the 1986 World Cup; and Sam Torrance winning the Ryder Cup for Europe in 1985.

All were occasions when, as a spectator, all you could do was to sink back in your chair, catch your breath, and listen to the sound of your heart beating.

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