This article isn't very new either but, well, it's OK
I forgot where I got it from so I'll just post it here
The not so bizarre world of Tim Henman
By Jan Moir
May 9 2002
Last week, Tim Henman took off his clothes in front of the television cameras.
Part of a lucrative soap powder advertising campaign, this was also an odd attempt by Henman to zizz up his tragically boring public persona; many people find dripping taps and cardboard more interesting than our top tennis player - and he knows it.
"My image is pretty inaccurate and I think I am the one to blame for that," he sighs.
"I don't live dangerously, I am not wild, but I would like to think that I am fun to be around. I am not a robot and I am not a boring idiot, as some people seem to think I am."
What is he then?
"I am mischievous. I think that is a word that describes me quite well."
In what way?
"I am a bit of a practical joker and probably, heh heh, quite hyperactive as well." Right.
After his strip, Henman told a Sunday newspaper the Full Timmy shoot was surprisingly good fun; although it will be the "first and last time" he takes his clothes off for a camera.
Thank heavens for that, say I: his minor eruption of exhibitionism may have revealed the body of a sporting god, but Henman looked so clean cut and curiously sexless that, even with his clothes off and a strategically placed racquets bag, he gave the impression of a man about to pop into a nice hot bath rather than a red hot embrace.
With his Clark Kent haircut, scrubbed fingernails and scrupulously polite manners, Henman cannot help but look exactly what he is; the well adjusted, well brought up, privately educated son of a middle-class family who is, at this very moment, powering along the path that snakes between the courts and the pavilion at Queens Club in west London.
He is much taller than you might imagine; his body long and lean in monochrome sports kit, his big feet squeaking away in trainers the size of small hovercraft.
"After you," he says, holding open a swing door when we reach one of the club buildings.
On the palm of his right hand there is a hillock of yellow, callused Parmesan cheese skin; a war wound that marks the spot where his Slazenger racquet rests.
Obligingly, he pistons his arm up and down, simulating a serve. Elbows and shoulders, he says, are the most vulnerable areas for tennis players, although he - touch wood - has been remarkably injury free.
Being the kind of person who really does touch a piece of wood to invoke good fortune, he superstitiously pats a banister as we make our way past indoor courts, gyms and locker rooms, looking for an empty office in which to talk.
He did, he says, have a troublesome piece of loose bone floating around in his elbow, but a recent operation has fixed that.
"They sucked it out with a thing like a vacuum cleaner," says Henman. "Bizarre."
Bizarre. This is his most notable conversational motif; anything that is interesting, out of the ordinary, mildly distracting or utterly sensational is bizarre in Henman-speak.
This includes the embarrassing annual British ritual of getting over-excited about his Wimbledon chances, the fact that I find that he drives a Porsche quite interesting - "Bizarre that you want to know, please don't judge me on that" - and his impending fatherhood.
Tim and his wife, Lucy, have never made any secret of the fact they were keen to start a family "when the time is right".
Obviously, that moment has come and she is now expecting their first child in October.
This is both bizarre and exciting, and Henman has rearranged his busy international schedule - his recent itinerary took in Rotterdam, Dubai, California, Miami and Monaco - so that he will be in London for the birth.
"Boy or girl, it has to be a tennis player. No! I'm joking. Whatever the baby wants to do when it grows up will be fine with me. So long as it is healthy. We are keeping our fingers crossed that everything goes to plan. And I just can't wait. I am so excited about it. When we had the first scan, I was tempted to know the sex of the baby, but we decided not to, in the end. It is all quite weird. A miracle. It can't come quickly enough for me."
But what is really interesting for Henman fans is that, somewhere deep inside, he feels that the thrill of becoming a father for the first time will inspire him to victory on court.
"I feel sure it is going to have a positive effect on my tennis," says Hen man.
"And, this year, I am desperate to go all the way and achieve my dream of becoming Wimbledon champion."
Certainly, Henman is on good form at the moment, ranked No. 5 in the world and second in the global ATP champions race rankings, his highest placing for years.
No wonder he feels surer than ever that the most elusive of glittering prizes is now within his grasp.
"This year is my best chance ever to win Wimbledon," he says.
"In the past year, I have made more improvements than ever before, so I am a better player. Right now, I am playing better than I have ever played in my life and my chances to win keep getting better and better. Certainly way better than last year. So I feel confident and hopeful."
Doesn't he dread Wimbledon, with all the extra pressure it brings to bear on his game?
"No," he says. "I do not. I absolutely live for it. Wimbledon is why I started playing tennis. I always dreamt that one day I would play there in the most prestigious tennis tournament. One day, hopefully, I would win it."
Still, no one would blame him if he did hate the wretched thing.
Each year, Henman, becomes the sole focus for a national spasm of patriotic agony as he progresses through the opening rounds against a backdrop of rising hysteria.
"Things do get blown out of proportion. The hype is out of control. I do love the support from the fans, but it does get pretty mad, off court," he says.
And, while everyone else is going bonkers as the tournament progresses with or without him, Henman claims to be the still eye at the centre of the emotional hurricane.
"The fuss does get embarrassing," he concedes, "but I don't get arrogant and cocky when I win and I don't walk around sulking as if the world was about to end if I lose."
Three times, poor, brave Timmy has reached the semi-finals and three times he has been beaten.
Last year, after his semi-final defeat by Goran Ivanisevic, Henman woke up next morning to find a dozen paparazzi outside his terrace home in south-west London.
"It was bizarre. I went out to them and said: 'What can I do for you, what do you want?' And they said: 'Dunno, really, mate. We're waiting to see what you are going to do.' When I told them I was going to play golf, they were astounded. Shocked. They didn't think I should be on a golf course the day after I lost at Wimbledon. I mean, what did they want me to do? Burn my house down?"
Henman permits himself a rueful snicker at the memory, leans back in his chair and locks his hands behind his head.
Although Tim Henman often seems robotic during his appearances at post-match press conferences, you have to admit that there is a glimmer of personality about him in reality; particularly at this happy, promising and portentous junction in his life.
He shows only a trace of the arrested emotional development commonly found in young, career sportsmen and there is clearly an interior life going on here, much more than he ever lets slip in public.
Henman says he only pretends to be boring, using a mask of muffling dullness as a diversion to protect his private life; very clever, if true.
"At those conferences, I have definitely been guilty of giving the right answer rather than the truthful one; it makes for an easier life. You might think of me as a straight- down-the-line, straight-faced person, but the people who know me best would disagree."
He is slightly defensive on the topic of his famous, shall we say, blandness. Touchy even.
But when we discuss the three-storey terrace home that he shares with his wife in a prosperous London suburb, he talks with enthusiasm about the kitchen he helped design; about the sofas, the big table, the dresser and the wooden floor.
He pitched in with ideas for the colours used throughout the entire house, but when I ask him what he actually chose, the Henman shutters come crashing down again.
"Why is that relevant?" he says. It isn't. I was just wondering. (Thinks: it's beige, and he doesn't want to tell me.)
"Why do you want to know?" I'm not bothered, really. (Definitely beige.)
"Well," says Henman. "In the end, I went for a neutral colour scheme." Told you so.
But he's a very nice boy at heart. Not bizarre at all.
- The Daily Telegraph