Frank Sinatra once sang about how fairytales can come true if you're young at heart.

Well, Goran Ivanisevic fits into the YAH category given that the Wimbledon champion's father Srdjan says "Goran the man is like Goran the boy".

Hans Christian Andersen, the Brothers Grimm and even Lewis Carroll might have been pushed to write a more surreal scenario for a sporting occasion, not, of course, that a request would have winged its way to their wonderlands.

Perhaps Goran himself might pen one, he certainly has the capacity to wander in the land of make believe and turn it into a reality with more than a touch of surrealism, judging from his one-man stage act following each victory at the Championships. He told tales, almost Ustinovian, of Goran the Good, Goran the Bad and Goran the Brainy One, and held all those present in rapture.

One can imagine that if he and girlfriend Tatjana settle down and have babies, he could read from Goran's Fables (with illustrations by kindred spirit Damien Hurst) at the bedside of his offsprings.

But even the most famous wild card in tennis history wouldn't be able to dream up anything as wild as his Centre Court triumph against Pat Rafter.

There were so many twists to the plot Hollywood would struggle to squeeze it into a three-hour epic, let alone a standard 90-minute bio-pic. It would need the creative geniuses of directors past and present to do it justice.

A biography, with pain-staking research and eye for the anecdote, might just cover most of it.

An audio autobiography, of indeterminate length, uttered by the man himself would describe it best.

In its absence I have to tell this story.

Once upon a time there was a beanpole of a kid, born in Split on September 13, 1971, to Srdjan and Gorana, who became a beanpole of a man.

He had a simple outlook on life: be open, be honest, give rather than take.

Goran developed a tennis career and became famous for wearing his heart on his sleeve, bouncing down 130mph aces and reaching No.2 in the world. But it was a roller coaster existence: three times a Wimbledon finalist, three times a loser.

Shoulder trouble and loss of form sent him spiralling to 125 in the world.

Coming in to Wimbledon a couple of months short of 30 his tennis obits had been written. He had been motivated by raising money to buy his cancer-stricken sister medical care. She was well. He was fired up by the war in his homeland. It had ended.

When he smashed all his rackets at the Samsung Open in Brighton last November, he seemed to have no motivation, not even himself because he often didn't like what he saw when he looked in the mirror.

But he stepped through the looking glass the moment he won his first round at the All England Club a couple of weeks ago.

Ivanisevic, watched every inch of the way by his father, who has heart trouble and was defying doctor's orders, journeyed deep into the heart of Never Never Land.

No wild card had reached the semi-finals at Wimbledon, not one had made a Grand Slam final of any persuasion. But Ivanisevic continued to follow the yellow brick road. Unlike the lion with no heart in the Wizard of Oz, he had one the size of a planet.

Everyone could see all the agonies and ecstasies he was going through, especially in that tumultuous final game of his epic final against Rafter.

That is why, when he stood on top of a commentary box at the finish with his arms aloft, a whole stadium was in love with him. They could identify.

That was the same reaction to all the kids sitting in their homes around Sussex, around the country, around the world who had never picked up a racket before. The Sussex LTA, for instance, was bombarded with parents whose mini Gorans and Goranas wanted to follow their tearful, triumphant hero.