Andy Roddick

London: Gentle folk that they are, the good people of Thailand smile serenely and murmur mai pen rai whenever life takes an expected turn. Your wife has run off with your regular doubles partner? Mai pen rai: never mind/it doesn’t matter/Buddha knows what He’s doing. Yes, it was a blissful union but there must be someone else in the clubhouse bar whose forehand will complement your flowing backhand.

Unlike the tranquil Thais, American tennis fans are an impatient lot: ‘We want a champ! And when do we want him? Now!’

The US may have acclaimed more men’s singles champions than any other nation since the Second World War (the roll of honour reads: US 23, Australia 16, Sweden 7, Germany and Switzerland 4 each), but their spells of ascendancy have been interwoven with occasional barren periods. Indeed, since the last of Pete Sampras’ seven victories in 2000, the Land of the Free has been reduced to a Third World country in tennis terms.

Roddick has emerged as the man most likely to become the 15th nephew of Uncle Sam in 62 years to succeed on Centre Court. Twice runner-up to Roger Federer (and winner of the US Open in 2003), Roddick revelled in his Terminator image until Andy Murray sliced him to pieces in the third round here last year.

Roddick has since engaged Jimmy Connors to serve as his coach — a curious choice, one may think, given that delicacy of touch never featured among Jimbo’s numerous attributes — to no great visible transformation, it has to be said. He still pulverises every ball, his backhand remains the single most hideous shot in tennis and the longer any rally develops, the less chance he has of winning the point.

Udomchoke, by contrast, could have been playing in the BBC’s black-and-white days of the early 60s, so elegant but inoffensive were his groundstrokes. The ball left his racket strings with the melodic ping of shuttlecock on badminton racket, whereas you could actually hear Roddick’s shots fizz with menace. The scoreboard read 6-3, 6-4, 7-6 but the entire match was encapsulated in the fifth game of the first set, which Roddick won with an ace and three service winners timed at an aggregate speed of 497mph.

Uniquely, Connors is at Wimbledon in three capacities: coach, TV and, as a former champion (1974 and 1982), honorary member of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.

Like his young employer, Jimbo has experience of being cut to pieces on Centre Court, when his swaggering aura of seeming invincibility was shattered by Arthur Ashe’s gentle returns, floating lobs and cunning angles in the 1975 final.

But Connors was the ultimate alley cat, clawing, scratching and snarling his way to five US Open titles, two Wimbledon and one Australian Open.

If Connors can instil a fraction of his gladiatorial spirit into Roddick, then America’s wait may be nearing an end.