THIS is a convulsive time for tennis in Britain — when did the sport here exist in any other state? — and Andy Murray is only going to emphasise its spasmodic nature the better he does. The lad knows it, too, which makes his inexorable progress towards the world’s top 50 all the more fascinating.

At the same time as it does all it can to ingratiate itself with the Murray camp — although he has intimated that he probably will not accept its invitation to play in the Red Letter Days Open in Nottingham the week before Wimbledon — so the Lawn Tennis Association (LTA) is unable to finalise the protracted sale of Queen’s Club in West London; Stuart Smith, the new president, prefers not to be drawn on any policy initiatives; and the £40 million LTA National Tennis Centre draws closer to throwing wide its doors (it would be nice to think that there might be a crush at the opening).

What these have to do with Murray winning the SAP Open in San Jose becomes clearer as the clock winds down on the careers of Tim Henman and Greg Rusedski — despite their protestations to the contrary, it would be an astonishing achievement should either contend for a significant title again. The Scot has a lot of futures riding on what looks to be an increasingly firm grip.

The sport has never had anyone like him to contend with. Somnambulistic one minute, surging the next, he is a freak in British terms — just as Henman was — but with his head screwed on to such an extent that he knows exactly what he is going to say and has a decent idea as to the impact of his words. When he gives Roger Federer, Marat Safin, Ivan Ljubicic and David Nalbandian extremely decent runs for their money and sends Andy Roddick, the former world No 1, into a lather of self-defeating angst, he becomes a very dangerous property indeed.

British 18-year-olds are not expected to defeat the world No 3 and say “it was quite a good effort”. And say that getting to the top 50 is “a pretty decent achievement”. But that is Murray’s manner. He does his stuff, he makes the right choices, he picks his coach because he has an innate sense that he is the right man, he sticks it to his critics, he drops one of the sport’s foremost management groups in favour of a smaller, more select company and he can barely hide his contempt at the way the sport is run here.

It is why someone with all John McEnroe’s bravado looks upon him with something approaching kinship. It is why the LTA chooses to stage its next Davis Cup tie in Glasgow. It is why Murray says Wimbledon is not his most important tournament (he does not have the feel for the place that British players are expected to have).

It is why he is full of disdain for what tennis is supposed to be in favour of a teenager’s grasp of what it should be if kids with his spark are taught by people who excite them, and they have a respect for. Murray is giving everyone in tennis — and not just the British game in which rumours of change abound — cause to sit up and take notice.

Paul Annacone, Henman’s coach, has sensed the “tumultuous stage” the Scot has reached. “There are lots of peaks and valleys ahead,” Annacone said. “There will be a lot to have to deal with. The truly great players get away with more than the not-so-great players.”

Last night, Murray defeated Lleyton Hewitt, of Australia, who became the world No 1, won a couple of grand-slam tournaments, loves the Davis Cup and is a constant thorn in the side of the Aussie establishment. One is tempted to say that here are two men who may — one day — have an awful lot in common.