Bobby Robson

That reminds me of the great clay battles in my day, when every rally felt like a proper examination of the soul. You see, Roland Garros in that sort of heat is a bit like Turin or Porto in August, the legs go, the head goes, and only the brave stay standing.

What’s the point of tennis, or football for that matter, if you do not test character? On a sweltering day, talent is lovely, magnificent in fact, but endurance and nerve decide it. The game, whether with a racket or a ball, always asks the same question: do you keep going when it’s uncomfortable?

And I always liked that. It tells you plenty.