I TAKE no pride in the fact that, having covered sports for over five years, only once have I concerned myself with the deeds and struggles of Aisam-ul-Haq Qureshi. It was for an interview with a local monthly back in 2005, Aisam having just beaten Paradorn Srichappan and led Pakistan, with Aqeel Khan, to the Davis Cup World Group play-offs.

He had about him that untouched openness and willingness to talk that must come to sportsmen who aren’t interviewed every five minutes, who are not pestered relentlessly for quotes, whose words are rarely taken out of context for spin-filled headlines (mostly because his words have rarely been taken at all). That first interview fell prey to a moody dictaphone. The next day Aisam happily gave time again, with even less qualms than the first time.

Let’s not pretend that Aisam’s achievement, in becoming only the second Pakistani to ever reach the second round at Wimbledon, will change the face of tennis here. Much else, outside our grasp, goes into the making, nurturing and popularising of a sport than a solitary man’s success; else squash would be a household game now, with a little Jahangir and Jansher in all of us.

But a proper acknowledgment there should be of his achievement. Marat Safin, former world number one and winner of grand slam titles, is always more likely to beat himself but he was given, for two of the three sets and nearly two hours, a hearty fight. Admittedly Safin floated, always hinting at much in reserve, another gear, while Aisam hustled his all, but there was no disgrace. Much of tennis is won and lost on big points — to break, to win a set — and so it was here: Aisam matched Safin for winners, aces and break points. Tellingly, Safin won three of the eight break points he had, Aisam none, including losing a set point in the third. No disgrace, plenty in fact to warm the heart.

During that interview, I asked Aisam how difficult it was being a Pakistani tennis professional, fully expecting a chronicle of lament, despair against the Pakistan Tennis Federation and little hope. Not for the first time — neither the last unfortunately — I was wrong.

Yes, it had been a struggle, a “long and hard journey”, but he acknowledged that he had been, at least, fortunate enough to have his family’s complete support, spiritual and financial. What of the many who play, who want to play but have no such backing, was left unasked, but implied in the response. They have only the PTF to rely on.

The game came to him relatively late, at 14; like gymnasts, tennis stars start disquietingly young. Until then, cricket and swimming had battled for his affection. Genealogy, though, is notoriously difficult to escape, so it was decreed that Aisam would take up tennis: his mother Nausheen Ehtesam is a former Pakistan No 1 and his grandfather, Khwaja Iftekar Ahmed, was one of All-India’s pre-eminent players. Yet still he wasn’t sure. Only on turning 18, in a neat reversal of roles, when he wanted to study further, but his parents wanted him to pursue tennis professionally, did he plunge fully.

He’s had some times since then: a successful junior career, eventful doubles moments, Davis Cup tales, worthy singles triumphs. Now there is a Wimbledon story to proudly pass on. Pleasingly, he has done it in the way of tennis artistry, ignoring the bloodlust attractions of the power game that has swept the sport and choosing instead the nuances, the graces and the touch of serving and volleying. Stefan Edberg, unsurprisingly, is one of his favourites.

Mostly he has chugged along, broadly unsupported, unheralded, un-feted. He has moved along, trekking a demanding international circuit by and large without complaint. When your own federation tries to ban you for partnering an Israeli player — an act which others reward you for with the Arthur Ashe humanitarian award - you have grounds for complaint.

There is much else to complain about, including the inability of any corporate-type to spot, in Aisam, an articulate, well-spoken, presentable brand icon. The few occasions he has complained, it has been done with no bitterness.

He could also rightfully ask for heftier coverage from the media but he hasn’t. He could point out that people like me write only when he does something nobody expects. He won’t but he should. Never has he let any of this stop him from doing what he does. A collective apology then Aisam - without you even asking for one - for not recognising often enough the lonely, strife-ridden path you have so diligently pursued.