Our Saviour, Tim Henman

Out of the stygian abyss it crawls. Eons in deep sleep beneath the waves, now it has been awakened by mortals too foolish to know when they've meddled in affairs beyond their ken. Slowly, inexorably it comes to devour our minds and souls.

The tales tell of a great warrior who will stand against this monster of the deep, this darkness beyond imagining. One man who will either be our saviour or lead us into darkness, he alone has the strength and skill to prevail. His name: Tim Henman.

Even now he watches, waiting patiently for his opponent to rise from the depths and face him. He hones his weapon, his trusty racquet, and keeps himself limber for the day all too soon when he will battle an eldritch abomination on the centre court of life.

He may have disappointed in the past, but now he has a chance to redeem himself. The people cry out for him to save us. He will. Tim watches and waits, face grim. The battle is coming. This is his time. This time he will be victorious. He will lift not the Wimbledon cup but the head of the beast.

It crawls ever nearer, but Tim is waiting. Tim will have its head.

Tim Henman, our saviour.