Sir Andy Murray? Really?

Don’t get me wrong: I have much respect for Andy Murray. No other British tennis player since Fred Perry in 1934 has risen to No. 1 in the world, so Murray’s achievement must be applauded.

I’m clapping my palms to raw meat even as we speak, which doesn’t prevent me from thinking that his elevation to knighthood delivers yet another slap in the face of the honour system.

What exactly are the criteria for turning an Andy into a Sir Andy? Seeking an answer to that question, I turned to the official website, and this is what it says:

“A knighthood or damehood can be presented for all types of different achievement, but usually the person nominated will have made a major contribution to the country at a national or international level; their work and achievements will be viewed as an inspiration to others; and they may have influenced their peers, industry or the nation through their sustained and outstanding commitment to their chosen area.”

The explanation is as woolly substantively as it is inept grammatically (following the single antecedent ‘a person’ with the plural personal pronoun ‘their’ is political correctness at its most asinine).

Forgetting that for a moment, let’s just say that ‘all types of different achievement’ is too open-ended to mean anything at all.

For example, I know a woman who can pull amazing faces. Should she choose to compete ‘at a national or international level’, she could win many gurning tournaments, while her achievements would doubtless inspire others and influence her peers, other competitive gurners. Would she then qualify for damehood?

Granted, there are different degrees of honours, as there are different degrees of achievement. But where do we draw the line, below which an achievement is too trivial to be recognised by Her Majesty?

Descartes, who notoriously had problems with absolute truth not proceeding from his own musings, postulated that all knowledge is comparative. Let’s generously concede that some knowledge indeed is and compare Sir Andy to others, those who were or weren’t knighted.

For example, Squadron Leader George Leonard ‘Johnny’ Johnson, the last living dambuster, was by-passed in the Christmas list though nominated, and Andy Murray, as he then was, wasn’t.

Johnson made a contribution to the survival of the realm, risking his life in one of the most spectacular air raids of the war. By contrast, Sir Andy made a contribution to his bank balance, risking nothing but a sprained ankle. Then of course Johnson was engaged in a manifestly Eurosceptic activity, which these days must be a disqualifying circumstance.

Another one who never received the honour was Francis Crick who co-discovered the structure of DNA. Crick’s double helix ought to have trumped Sir Andy’s double-handed backhand, but didn’t.

However, while Sir Andy didn’t add much to the international repute of the realm, neither did he subtract from it. That’s more than can be said for assorted pop cretins (Sir Elton, ring your office) who aggressively bring the realm into disrepute by catering to the basest instincts of man.

If a tennis tournament may be seen as a bloodless descendant of the gladiatorial contests of antiquity, a pop concert is a malodorous amalgam of Nuremberg rally, orgy and opium den. On the scale of human achievement, Sir Andy falls somewhere between Frances Crick and Sir Elton, but, on balance, closer to the pop end.

Recent honour lists have also rewarded those who made ‘major contributions’ to politicians’ campaign funds and/or played sustained labio-gluteal tributes to said politicians. Now I know that the Queen merely rubberstamps PM’s appointments, but for old times’ sake surely greasing Tony’s or Dave’s palm doesn’t qualify as ‘a major contribution to the country’?

Such persons won’t ‘be viewed as an inspiration to others’, nor influence, except in a negative way, ‘their peers or the nation through their sustained and outstanding commitment to their chosen area’, the area in such cases being the body part mentioned above.

This inflation of honours not only devalues them, but it also insults those great men and women, past and present, who have indeed provided vital services to the realm. This irrespective of whether or not they had (Sir Isaac Newton?) or hadn’t (Francis Crick?) received the honour.

Sir Andy is a hell of a tennis player, and I wish I could have one-tenth of his game and one-hundredth of his athleticism. Moreover, unlike some of our footballers, he has monastically dedicated himself to his craft, practising and training hours on end, eating nothing but right foods, taking ice baths and refraining from booze.

That deserves respect but not, in my view, a knighthood. For he, along with those offensive pop ‘musicians’, has already been adequately rewarded by the millions he has made – and I hope he’ll make many more.

Honorary titles, however, should be bestowed on those who have won respect for the whole country, not just for themselves.