THE MIND of a top-flight tennis player is a complex thing. Throughout the course of a career, more often than not it is the greatest determining factor between success and failure. But never is it more complicated than when results and falling rankings seem to suggest that the time is right to call it a day.

One of the worst things in the game is to be perceived by fans or fellow players as a quitter. Nobody likes to be seen to be throwing in the towel, but when you step back and look at things logically, it is infinitely more stupid to try to hang on in there. And being in denial is common among the senior fraternity of the men’s locker room.

So when is the right time to zip away the rackets in the bag for the last time and retire? To those who simply watch or pontificate about the game, it might seem obvious, but, believe me, because of the way you try to condition your mind as a positive force, it is the most difficult decision a player has to make.

When you are injured, you take heed of the advice of the doctor or the physio. When something goes wrong with your technique, you can turn to your coach. But nobody can get inside your head on the matter of when to call it a day.

Hearing the thoughts of Tim Henman after he suffered yet another first-round loss in last week’s Artois Championships was an eerie experience for me, because, almost word for word, he was saying the same things that I came out with 10 years ago.

Aged 32, exactly the same as Tim, I ignored the fact that the only player I had beaten in a sparse six-month run was the doubles specialist Mahesh Bhupathi. Since returning to the Tour after missing the Australian Open with a knee injury, Tim has also chalked up just one win.

To my way of thinking, I was playing some stunning stuff on the practice court and more than a few of the defeats could easily have gone the other way. So just a couple of wins were bound to turn things around, and the most important thing was to maintain a brave face. Henman came out with exactly the same statement as he tried to come to terms with another defeat.

I took the view that I had once been ranked No 4 in the world and a decade earlier had been one of the big drawcards in the sport.

In hindsight, such thinking was simply delusional. I should have taken more notice of the fact that I was not being given wild cards into tournaments that I felt my past accomplishments merited, and consequently my ranking was sinking lower and lower. The Queen’s Club tournament was a classic example, as was the Sydney event in my home country.

Doubtless Tim would be treated differently by the organisers of the Artois and the committee at the All England Club – but will the same apply at this summer’s Masters Series events in Montreal and Cincinnati? I think we all know the answer.

He will be particularly hurt by the fact that his two most recent defeats, in the French Open against Ernests Gulbis and at Queen’s Club against Marin Cilic, came at the hands of relatively rookie teenagers. We all know about the amazing powers of youthful testosterone, but there is nothing worse than being made to feel old - and that was the case for Tim in those losses to a pair of 18-year-olds.

You don’t become a bad player as you go further into your 30s, but there is no magic elixir to prevent certain things from changing. The reflexes aren’t quite as sharp as they used to be, the time it takes to make those first two or three yards becomes a little longer. Even things that you have long accepted as a given, such as the ability to make a crisp volley, sometimes go inexplicably out of kilter.

As a result, confidence becomes a big factor. You start questioning your ability to come through the tough chapters of matches. The defeat to Cilic was a perfect illustration. Henman was ahead in all three sets and in years gone by would have dominated, without a doubt, but he didn’t have the mental ability to win the big points. It was sad to behold.

Henman has always insisted that dropping down a level to the Challenger tournaments to revitalise his ranking is not an option, and I understand his thinking.

I well remember arriving to play a lowly event in somewhere like Zaragoza a week before Christmas among all these determined clay-courters from Spain and Portugal and realising that this was not the way to continue. After years of five-star hotels in glamorous cities, it was an eye-opener to pitch up in somewhere far less salubrious, with instant coffee and a stale croissant to start the day.

Come September, Henman will have three small children at home. That will also be a significant factor in determining his thinking. By all accounts, life in his Oxfordshire retreat is pretty idyllic. He’s not the type of guy who would consider taking the family permanently on the road. He has been travelling around the world for something like 15 years and has had a top-flight career, and airport departure lounges and hotel rooms don’t seem so exotic after all that time.

The bottom line remains that it just isn’t enjoyable any more, and the men’s Tour is a ruthless place.

On the women’s Tour, it is clearly possible to leave the game well alone and then come back to recapture former glories. Serena Williams at the Australian Open was the perfect case in point.

But to see Henman, an individual universally respected by his peers as a fine player and one of the good guys of the sport, going through his current dilemma is, for me, a sad - and familiar - sight.