KEY POINTS:
Alarming news has reached this desk.
Andy Murray is planning to put out an autobiography of his full and rich life.
This is the same Andy Murray who is a 19-year-old Scot and ranks at No 17 in the men's ATP Tour.
The same Andy Murray who played in the Heineken Open last year and caused a stir with his "We were playing like women" view of his win over Dane Kenneth Carlsen.
On that score, you can have some sympathy for Murray when a tongue-in-cheek quip got bounced round the globe with the solemnity of a United Nations missive on Iraq.
Anyway, in this book he promises to reveal "the real me". His agent, Patricio Apey, roaring "he's as genuine as you get", has talked up "the Andy Murray brand" and reckons his teenager can pocket £80 million ($224 million) in the next few years.
Now let's consider this. He's won one - that's o-n-e - singles title, at San Jose last year and if you think word association, the one you'd come up with for Murray is "tantrum". He's good at it.
A couple of days ago, he turned to the stand in Doha and gave his coach, the respected American Brad Gilbert, a serious spray over his advice on how to return serve to his Russian opponent Max Mirnyi.
What on earth can Murray, at his age and with his career in its fledgling stage, have to tell the world that is remotely interesting? Can we look forward to his views on Third World debt, African famine, world peace?
And another thing: last year two books were put out on Murray, rivetingly titled: Andy Murray, Wonderboy; and Andy Murray, The Story So Far.
What is it with athletes and biographies before they've blown out 21 candles on the cake? How can their lives to that point be remotely interesting, considering in many cases life has consisted of travelling the world in a cosseted bubble?
Is pulling in a fat cheque their only motivation, or do they really think readers are the slightest bit interested in their burblings? There are many athletes to fit the above bill. I only mention Murray because the Heineken Open is back, although Murray is not. (There's also Cypriot Marcos Baghdatis, the world No 12, who put out his life story last year. He's 21, but I'm picking he's shifted a pile of stock in Nicosia and Limassol).
The best/worst example of this depressing state of literary affairs is, of course, Wayne Rooney. The England and Manchester United footballer might be brilliant with animals and help the elderly across the road, and he's brilliant with a ball at his feet, but he's always struck me as a yob with footy boots on.
Last year he struck a deal with publishers HarperCollins for a £5 million advance, plus royalties, to put out five autobiographies to be written on his life in the next 12 years.
The first tome is out, entitled My Story So Far. The others are as yet unnamed, but to avoid confusion the simplest approach would be to add a number after each one. My Story So Far Four is a tongue twister but My Story etc etc Five has a catchy ring.
The first book is full of fascinating tidbits, in the style of : "Went to the ground in the morning, but the boss wasn't around so we played five-a-side. We won, I got two goals. Stopped for a curry on the way home ..." Yes, a gripping page turner.
It is rare to find a really good sporting life story, but they are about if you search. As any author will tell you, the key is the subject.
Finally, because it's too good to leave out, when Rooney joined Manchester United, he was told to find a house in the smart part of Cheshire. He drove past a pub he thought was the Admiral Rooney. Taking that as a good omen, he got out his chequebook for a mansion nearby. It turned out to be the Admiral Rodney.
