Andy Murray clings to a goodbye his weakening body cannot bear.

Andy Murray limped out of the Miami Masters with a torn ankle ligament on Monday. Photo: Getty Images/Frey

Ever since Roger Federer staged his tearful midnight farewell in London, with even Ellie Goulding on hand to narrate the video montage, his great peers have been chasing a similarly perfect ending. Rafael Nadal called this entire season his long goodbye, but his broken joints prevented the script from being written. Andy Murray has yet to give an exact date. But judging by his agonizing condition in Miami, where a torn ankle ligament required another lonely recovery, the moment weighed heavily on his mind.

His wording was hardly cryptic. «I didn't think about all the matches I played,» he said after his 3.5-hour loss to Tomas Machak in Florida. This performance is all the more remarkable given that he played two games and drew. broke even after his ankle was torn. “Moreover, this is the last match I'm going to play here and it's sad because I love it here. I've spent most of my career here and I wish it lasted a little longer. Walking out of court was emotional. I'm looking forward to the end, trying my best for the next few months, and then being home with my family.»

Murray not only voiced the “end”, but also suggested that he was happy about it. And this is not surprising, considering that his last three months have passed like one long exercise in psychological torture, which he inflicted on himself. What started as disappointment when he lost in the first round of the Australian Open turned into outright confusion in Dubai as he screamed while beating Hugo Humbert: “I have no idea what I’m doing. Oh God, terrible feeling, terrible feeling on the tennis court.”

This almost Beckettian monologue was in some ways a classic Murray monologue. He tended to vent his rage mid-match either in violent self-recrimination or in berating his coaching team. But his body language has taken a worrying turn lately, as if he no longer gets any pleasure from running around all corners with his metal thigh or showing doubters that his resilience is second to none. He just looks tired: tired of missing family time for useless matches in Montpellier, tired of the same questions about retirement, tired of it all, frankly.

The fatigue is understandable, given that this most unexpected of recent chapters is now in its sixth year. It was January 2019 when Murray first walked off the field, the pain when moving in that damn hip had begun to limit his quality of life. From that point on, he had little to prove to anyone but himself. On the surface, the success of this second coming has been mixed, with his two gutsy epics in Australia last year struggling to make up for the fact that he didn't reach the second week of a major after Wimbledon 2017.

From a glass-half-full perspective, of course, he has refuted all the gloomiest post-surgery predictions that he would ever become just a ceremonial doubles player. It's a thought worth revisiting as he considers whether to endure the arduous rehabilitation once again. Murray has been through his share of pain trying to resuscitate the competitive animal of yore. Does he really need all the extra exercise, all the phased recovery protocols, if he's contemplating «ending» this summer?

The intention was, and perhaps still is, to stage a tearful farewell at the All England Club and the Paris Olympics. But if his ankle is in shambles, is it really a worthwhile goal? For Murray, his greatest moments in both stages were behind him: two Wimbledon triumphs and two Olympic gold medals. Yes, it would be touching and emotional to see him leave such a grand set in style. But Murray already knows what it's like: Five years ago, he watched awkwardly as his peers cheered at Melbourne Park as newspapers rushed to print souvenir editions.

He has made it abundantly clear that his departure will take place at a time and in a manner of his choosing, recently lashing out at a reporter who dared suggest otherwise. But to watch the depth of his agony in Miami is to wonder whether the time has come and whether his defiance makes him his own worst enemy. Murray spent enough months in rehab to last a lifetime. To submit to this toil again, all for the sake of some elusive poetic ending, seems not a noble enterprise, but an act of supreme masochism.