Andy Murray, once the fierce competitor at Grand Slams with his racket held high, has quietly traded the tennis court for a very different stage — and his children think he’s gone pro… as a golfer. What’s even more eyebrow-raising? All evidence of his tennis greatness has been relegated to one unglamorous spot in the house: the downstairs toilet.
Yes, you read that right. The photos, trophies, and memorabilia from more than two decades of tennis—wins, losses, battles, heartbreaks—now sit in the downstairs loo. Murray laughs it off, saying his kids “aren’t really interested” in what he achieved in tennis. What they see is what he does now: waking early, dropping them off at school, and heading out to the golf course, the driving range, or practicing putts long after he used to be known for forehands and backhands.
His children apparently look at him and say, “Daddy, why do you play every day?” because, to them, that’s what he is: a golfer. To Andy, it’s less about what people think and more about filling a void. After years of pushing through injuries and setbacks, after retiring from professional tennis post-2024 Olympics, golf became a solace. It’s something new to learn, to improve at, and it offers Andy a space where he doesn’t have to relive the past—because in their minds, he already has.
Murray freely admits this shift is surreal. The life of a world-class athlete is built around constant training, traveling, being in spotlight—now the spotlight has a different shape. It’s on birdies, pars, handicaps. He says that golf gives him the structure, the shot at mastering something new, and the satisfaction he craved when he stepped off the tennis court for the last time.
As for the trophies? They’re kept safely—but quietly—in the basement. The framed pictures, the big match posters, the iconic moments—yes, those now hang in what Andy jokes is the downstairs toilet. Not for show. Not for visitors. And certainly not where anyone would mistake them for current proof of his career.
What’s the takeaway? Andy Murray may have laid down his tennis racket, but his competitive spirit hasn’t been put out to pasture. It’s moved, transformed, redirected. His kids see Dad swinging clubs, aiming greens, not acing serves. And although some fans might crank up déjà vu when they remember the grit, the matches, it’s clear: this is more than retirement. It’s reinvention. And sometimes, the most spectacular parts of someone’s life story are the chapters we least expect.
