TO: ANDY MURRAY (TENNIS PLAYER)

Dear Andy:

The first time that I saw you play at Wimbledon, on TV in a pub in Aberdeen, I knew you were the greatest British player who had ever hit a fluffy yellow ball with a racket in anger. After three pints of Tennent's, you were two sets up against the feisty Argentinian David Nalbandian (whom my friend Donald always bets against because he's always likely to explode at any moment without any warning) and somehow, two pints later, you contrived to be beaten in five very difficult sets.  But I saw straight away (I have also played tennis myself) you were better than Mark Cox and Tim Henman playing together against you (which Donald says would also be an interesting bet).

I must admit it's not a good omen to speak of defeat at the start of this letter (i.e. your disappointing Wimbledon debut), especially in view of the fact that you still haven't managed to triumph in one of the majors, but I honestly think you're the best player Scotland has ever produced, and I honestly do like the way that you handle the media, who criticise you just because your voice is slightly monotone and, let's admit it, because you are Scottish.

Being Scottish may be something millions of people are proud of, even though it's hard to understand why anybody can be proud of something that happens by accident (i.e. place of birth), but our “proud” nationality comes with a pricetag – our decades of sporting disasters.

I suppose our great sporting disasters outnumber the triumphs by a factor of hundreds to one, but please don't let that put you off in your battle against all the odds to win one of the majors, which will surely happen before you get too old and have to bow out of the game, having never fulfilled your potential.

For Scots like us, the memories of many ignominious defeats come back to haunt us – e.g. the penalty conceded in the very last minute to England in a Grand Slam decider at Murrayfield, when the referee thought that a member of our team had handled the ball in a ruck, when it had actually been one of our (cheating) opponents. Gavin Hastings, one of our great sporting heroes, openly wept live on TV a few minutes later, so broken in spirit by such blatant sporting injustice. How many similar last-minute scores have denied us the triumphs our play has deserved?

The World Cup also brings back painful memories. In Germany in 1974, we ended up the only team unbeaten in the tournament, including the eventual winners themselves, but we didn't even make it to the next round (quarter finals), despite our moral win against Brazil. And what about the time we beat the Netherlands and also failed to qualify – the only team to beat the Dutch in normal time, including Argentina, who needed extra time to do the business in the final.

I could continue. Many Scottish people bear the scars of our sporting disasters but our lack of success would be ended forever if you made the almost impossible breakthrough and triumphed in one of the majors. You may be up against three of the most talented players who have ever hit a fluffy yellow ball with a racket in anger (Federer, Nadal and the Serbian player who crosses himself during matches), but one day you will surely turn the tables on your more gifted rivals. Maybe they'll get injured and retire or have one of their off days. But never give up, Andy. Never say die.

It must be awful having the hopes of your countrymen piled on your shoulders like great sacks of potatoes  And believe me I don't want to add to your burden. Just because I only have a few months to live (enough to see me through to the end of the season, if nothing bad happens), does not mean I want to put pressure on you or make you feel obliged to do much better. Your entourage will make sure you do not get too disconsolate or pay too much attention to fans like myself who would (literally) die if you never won one of the majors.

Tim Henman, for example, could have done it if the fans hadn't screamed at the critical moment, and fainted every time he missed a volley. Just because history sits on your shoulders like sacks of potatoes, do not surrender to depression or despair. Even if I am in heaven when you serve for the match, in the Wimbledon final, I will be flying round the centre court above you, willing the ball to obey your command – maybe even helping it fly through the air, with my prayers propelling it forward and adding a wee touch of backspin. Personally, I am not religious, but you know what I'm trying to say?

Maybe in a parallel universe, another Andy Murray is the world Number One, Scotland has just won the Grand Slam in rugby and lifted the World Cup again, beating England 1-0 in the final with a penalty in stoppage time. I have won the Nobel Prize for Literature and made my first billion. The world is at peace and a cow has jumped over the moon.

Good luck, Andy. Scotland is with you. And one day, the waiting will (literally) come to an end.

Best wishes,

Ben Nevis (deceased)

Update (July 8, 2012): Next year, Andy, next year...  

Update (September 10, 2012): I take it all back, Andy.  Well, nearly all...