The Solitude of Number Ones. It is a nice journalistic title (I make it my own) although the inspiration comes from The Solitude of Prime Numbers, a novel by Paolo Giordano. Songs and novels always inspire my editorials, my reflections. This time the focus is ostensibly on sports, Sinner’s defeat to Alcaraz at the U.S. Open in New York and the consequent loss of the scepter, i.e., no longer being the pinnacle of world tennis.
What happens in the transition from being number one to becoming number two in a few hours, in a busy Italian night (time zone)? First the revered, the invincible, dozens and dozens of articles by dozens and dozens of tennis thinkers, from technical to metaphysical, existential, sociological, fiscal issues. And always with the usual divisive Italian spirit. Remember. Sinner is Italian pride in the world. No, Sinner has red hair like a Scotsman, names and family from Alto Adige that sound like Austrians before the Unification of Italy, and then Italian he doesn’t even speak well.
Sinner says to every great victory great things, common sense words that inspire good values, parents, people who are sick. No, Sinner basically says platitudes, and then what kind of Italian is he if he lives in Monte Carlo and doesn’t pay taxes from us, and then he didn’t even go to Mattarella, who in the meantime has already invited to the Quirinal Palace that piece of Italy that again yesterday won and thrilled, namely the volleyball girls (let’s call them that) who won the world championship.
A few hours ago, all over. I heard with my own ears in a program I conduct that Alcaraz, come on, you can see he’s stronger. He has more strokes, he’s more creative, he’s more spectacular. And he’s also more empathetic.
For us in the New Yorker who work on the cultural, economic and editorial bridge between Italy and the United States, it took a great American tournament to dispose of an Italian number one. Who already speaks as a number two, has already lost his aura as Baudelaire would say.
“I’ve become predictable,” said poor Jannik, as if he were just another racquetballer. He is young, he will have time to make up for it, but up there, in the solitude of number one, it must be hard to stay there for long. Better perhaps for a while the Darwinian and popular rage of number two.
“I have to get out of the comfort zone,” Sinner added. This disappointed me, the sign of this generation. Up there on the Olympus of all things, from sports to life, there is never peace of mind. In fact, everything and everyone conspires to pull you down.
Too correct, my dear, but you have given us great excitement and I wish you to return to the top soon. With strokes, and thoughts, less predictable.
The article The Loneliness of Number One comes from TheNewyorker.
