I think we're all sick of the setpiece sporting celebration, aren't we?

If I never see another footballer sliding to a halt on his knees with arms outstretched before devoutly kissing his badge of convenience I will not repine.

If I never see another "baby-cradling" group dance, or choreographed prance around a corner flag, I will not mind.

(The latter celebration is widely credited as being originated by Cameroon's veteran forward Roger Milla, who ran to the corner flag and wiggled after scoring at the 1990 and 1994 World Cup finals. However, the credit for this celebration should surely go to Frank Lampard – senior, that is, the West Ham left back whose unlikely diving header against Everton earned an appearance in the 1980 FA Cup final and whose subsequent decision to hare off and caper around the corner flag was, by his own admission, a complete mystery. These two are obviously exempt from all criticism.)

Roger Milla (left) celebrates in characteristic fashion after a goal for Cameroon against Russia at the 1994 World Cup finals

It has almost got to the point in football where the only sincere action after scoring is the non-celebration, which is practised on occasions by players who have scored against clubs they recently played for. The most memorable example of this was the shattered, anti-celebration by Denis Law of the backheeled goal for Manchester City in 1974 which he believed would relegate the club at which he had spent his most glorious days, Manchester United. As it turned out, United would have been relegated whatever the result of that game, but Law did not know that at the time and appeared stricken at what he had done, being substituted soon afterwards.

I don't much care, either, for the swallow-diving try-scoring effort in rugby, with accompanying hand signals. And judging by the reaction within rugby following the showy efforts of such as Chris Ashton, the audience whom these efforts amuse or entertain is severely limited.

The most recent celebrations to come under scrutiny in the sporting field have been those at Wimbledon where, if you recall, Andy Murray became the first male Briton to win the gentleman's singles title since Fred Perry in 1936. Surely you remember? Dour Scottish lad? Watched by Gerard Butler and other notables?

Coming to terms with a dream come true...Andy Murray gets advice from tournament referee Andrew Jarrett after beating Novak Djokovic in the final

There was certainly a lot of dramatic collapsing by winners at Wimbledon this year. It used to be that you only collapsed if you won the title in extreme circumstances. Björn Borg would sink to his knees after securing his 137th or 138th title, or whatever number it was, but only after an entire tournament of buttoned-up, ice-eyed restraint. Roger Federer has been known to hit the deck at the moment of victory – but again, this is in contrast to his restrained demeanour throughout the foregoing competitions.

Now, it seems, you can grand slam yourself onto the turf if you win any match, even if it is in the early rounds. The currency of collapse is collapsing.

No one, however, could question the veracity of Murray's reaction after finally securing the title he had longed for. He meandered about Centre Court like a bee looking for a flower. He appeared to be in a dreamlike state, although he had effectively just woken up to the wider realities of life after the trance-like concentration he had brought to the match, a concentration deepened over the past 18 months by the impassive figure looking on in sunglasses from the players' box, Ivan Lendl.

Happy daze...Andy Murray greets members of the crowd during a Centre Court walkabout after winning the Wimbledon title

As the current Olympic champion distractedly confessed to the BBC's Sue Barker – whose courtside interview no Wimbledon champion or runner-up can now escape – he could not remember the final point of the match, the climactic moment of a last game in which, three times, he had had the title within his grasp, and three times missed it.

In truth, Barker herself seemed a little dazed by events after she had returned from courtside to the studio to discuss the moment of "British sporting history" she and an estimated 17 million other interested parties had just witnessed. The way in which this former French Open champion, and Wimbledon semi-finalist – damn you, Betty Stove! – had gone about her business during the fortnight of action in SW19 was largely exemplary, but there were times when her desperate espousal of home hopes resembled the one-eyed obsession of a doting parent.

Having asked Lindsay Davenport, the 1999 Wimbledon champion, to talk about likely new challengers for the women's title, she added, archly, "haven't you forgotten someone?" In other words, the American had not mentioned the new British darling of the courts, Laura Robson.

If that moment was embarrassing, some of the pre-match trumpeting of Andy Murray in artfully assembled clips – The Pride! The Passion! The Parochialism! – was excruciating. However, the reaction of the young man from Dunblane in the moments when he began to realise he had achieved his highest ambition had an authenticity which was unmistakable.

At that point, he seemed akin to Cathy Freeman, the Australian 400 metres runner who fulfilled all the longing of her nation as she became the first Aboriginal Olympic champion at the home Games of 2000 in Sydney just a few days after fulfilling the responsibility of lighting the Olympic Flame.

Cathy Freeman takes in the enormity of her achievement in winning the 2000 Olympic 400m title for the home nation in Sydney

After crossing the line, Freeman pulled down the cowl of her one-piece running suit and sat blankly on the track amid a ferment of adoration.

Freeman and Murray are both now part of sporting history – two momentarily bewildered souls at the epicentre of their own achievement.

Mike Rowbottom, one of Britain's most talented sportswriters, covered the London 2012 Olympics and Paralympics as chief feature writer for insidethegames, having covered the previous five summer Games, and four winter Games, for The Independent. He has worked for the Daily Mail, The Times, The Observer, The Sunday Correspondent and The Guardian. To follow him on Twitter click here.