For a tennis fan, Andy Murray just did the equivalent of winning the World Cup

Almost winning Wimbledon against the greatest player of all time was a proud moment. Winning the Olympic Gold medal at Wimbledon against the GOAT was marvellous. But nothing compares to Andy Murray winning his first Grand Slam title against Novak Djokovic in New York last night to end 76 years of national pain and shame.

Well done, you dour, cranky, glowering, glorious bastard!

On the very day we waved goodbye to Britain's Olympic heroes, thinking that this summer of sporting marvels had finally drawn to a close, Murray - one of the two genuine tennis geniuses currently playing the game - finally bloody well did what he was born to do and after five hours of truly excruciatingly draining tennis (one of his toenails dropped off in the final set) hoisted one of those four trophies which (along with their junior cousins, the Davis Cup and the Olympics) are the sport's only true hallmarks of greatness.

I missed it, of course. When Djokovic, after fending off multiple attempts by Murray to get back on terms in the fourth set, counter-attacked and nicked it on a Murray service game, I decided I couldn't take the pain any longer. After all, the man they know as "Mr. Chuckles" was up against The Serbinator, the player who, over the last 21 months, has become the sport's ultimate Duracell bunny, routinely able to outlast former Duracell-Bunny-in-Chief Rafael Nadal. As far as I was concerned, the 6-3 fourth set had sealed Murray's fate - only hordes of drunken Scotsmen swarming onto the court and forcing dozens of deep-fried Mars Bars down the Serb's throat, followed by a gallon of Old Pisshead Single Malt whiskey, could possibly prevent Djokovic from winning - and that would have been like watching an England penalty shoot-out.

When I awoke this morning I checked the BBC website and glimpsed the image of Murray on his knees at the back of the court, hands covering his face (see above). I immediately switched off and trundled downstairs, heavy-hearted. That was it then - Murray would never win a slam, In fact, Britain's chances of winning a slam during my lifetime were roughly on a par with the prospect of me leaping up and down in front of the TV as an England player slots the winning goal past a despairing Spanish goalkeeper in the World Cup final in North Korea in 2026.

I decided to be brave. I switched on the TV and started watching a recording of the fifth set. Only something had gone wrong and the score said 5-2 to Murray, Djokovic was receiving treatment at the side of the court, and Laughing Boy was serving for the match! And he won that game in imperious fashion. It was surreal. Utterly, sublimely, gloriously surreal.

I shouldn't have been fooled by that photograph: I know by now that a Scotsman in his moment of triumph looks like anyone else in the depths of despair.

I thanked Murray for the joy - and tears - his Olympics win provided. That was the greatest moment in my sports-watching life. And I thank him again for his US Open triumph - only more so, because this, while less emotional, is even better!

My prediction is that Murray will win at least another two grand slam tournaments over the next couple of years. He isn't a Roddick or a Del Porto - very good players who managed a slam in their early days and then never quite got there again. Murray is a brilliant, classy player, seething with ideas, and blessed with oodles of God-given talent. It would, of course, be nice if Wimbledon 2013 was the scene of one of those future triumphs - surely Federer can't do it again; despite winning Wimbledon last year, grass isn't Djokovic's natural surface; and while Nadal may snaffle another couple of French Opens, I doubt he'll win a slam on any other surface from here on in.

But whatever Murray goes on to achieve, it won't mean quite as much as last night's stupendous triumph.

I'm a happy bunny - but not quite as happy, one suspects, as a certain gangly, balding 25-year old Scotsman, who I hope is munching on a Mars Bar and wrapping his surly gob round a bottle of Old Pisshead even as I write this.

And I would like to apologise publicly to Novak Djokovic and the Serbian people as a whole for the things I said about them during that heart-breaking fourth set.