There is perhaps no worse curse in all of sports than that of being saddled with hype and expectation, especially from a young age. It is particularly painful in tennis, in which the peak of one's career is usually around age 25.

Champions of the last several decades have managed the pressure of the expectation game with varying degrees of aplomb and accomplished as much as or more than what was expected of them. Jimmy Connors, Bjorn Borg and Andre Agassi come to mind immediately. Whether pressure caused them to thrive, as with Connors, or was actually an impediment, as with Agassi, in the end they achieved that vague notion of their potential.

Others, like Boris Becker at Wimbledon in 1985 or Pete Sampras at the U.S. Open in 1990, burst onto the scene in surprise fashion when winning the first of their many major titles. It's always fascinating to look back at someone like Sampras and wonder why it wasn't more obvious that he would become one of the greatest players of all time. Just goes to show that, as screenwriter William Goldman infamously wrote when discussing Hollywood conjecture regarding a film's potential success, nobody knows anything.

Right now in the tennis world, the burden of expectation is attached to Scotsman Andy Murray. The 23-year-old has been talked about as the next great player for almost four years.

But is it even fair to speak of Murray in such glowing terms in this era of the two-headed monster of Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal? After all, Nadal is only one year older than Murray but has eight Grand Slam trophies. Just consider that over the last eight years, when Federer and Nadal have met players other than themselves in Grand Slam finals, their combined record is 17-1. Utterly impenetrable and a testament to the duo's seemingly unbreakable mental fortitude.

But with the recent dismissal of coach Miles Maclagan, one has to wonder whether urgency is starting to seep into Murray's psyche. Very few players - I can think of just one in the last 20 years, and his name is Federer - can flourish without a coach.

Murray has yet to claim that first Slam title - a title all of Britain is craving on a level that we in the U.S. can't appreciate. After all, there has been no British Slam champion since Fred Perry in 1936. Imagine dealing with that kind of constant pressure, knowing that an entire nation is pinning its hopes on you. Not an enviable position.

It's not as if Murray hasn't come close. He has reached two major finals, both against Federer - the 2008 U.S. Open and this year's Australian Open. But in both, Murray was flat, thoroughly outplayed and apparently intimidated. This must have been of particular frustration for Murray, as he actually enjoys a winning record against Federer.

Most tennis experts seize on the fact that Murray, imbued with tremendous all-court acumen, has yet to develop a more powerful game to augment his clever, counterpunching style. When he does add some pop to his serve or forehand, he'll be that much harder to defeat.

Yet as the years wear on, precedent is against Murray becoming a consistent threat to win multiple Slam titles. Because in effect that's what high expectations in tennis translate to - winning several majors. And for a career to be considered hype-worthy, I'd put the number of Slams needed at three.

But if Murray doesn't start winning major championships immediately, there is little history to look to for encouragement. In the last 35 years - in essence, the entire Open era - only Ivan Lendl won the first of three or more Slams after his 24th birthday. The Czech, who epitomized the 1980s and ushered in the modern power phase of the sport with a relentless forehand, went on to a stellar career and captured eight major titles.

Lendl is an interesting point of comparison with Murray because, while their styles are quite opposite, their circumstances are rather similar. In his early 20s, Lendl, like Murray, had several dominating all-time players with whom to contend in Borg, Connors and John McEnroe. He lost to Borg and Connors in Slam finals before finally pulling through at the 1984 French Open, defeating McEnroe after the tempestuous New Yorker choked away a two-sets-to-none lead.

That victory also coincided with the end of Connors' and McEnroe's careers, as neither won a Slam from 1985 on. In fact, Connors once said disparagingly, "Lendl sort of bided his time while Borg, McEnroe and I had a triangle going." This proved to be an unfair statement, considering how dominant Lendl was over the next several years against a host of superb champions. Nevertheless, Connors had a point: Lendl didn't start to win majors until Connors, Borg and McEnroe were beyond their peaks.

For Murray to feel the rush of time seems unreasonable and unfair. Who is to say what his true potential is? Only Murray knows the depth of his capabilities, and if he were to win only one Slam, that would still merit tremendous acclaim. After all, less than half of 1 percent of touring pros win even one major.