The Internationals were a gift. And that’s not a figure of speech. He presented my first Belardinellis to me just like that, with a small ceremony and a nice package made up of words, recommendations and infinite exhortations. When he finally told me I was stunned. I wasn’t 18 yet, it was 1968 and dad Belarda had asked for and obtained a place on the board for me. He had kept it from me, to surprise me. It’s a memory, nothing more. But it’s mine and I’m holding on to it. I won’t tell you that they were “better times” than these, because that wouldn’t be true. They were different, that’s all…
Compared to that distant edition 56 years have passed, today’s tournament has grown dramatically, ours seemed more like a meeting with friends. How has he improved? It’s simply another tournament. There is only one thing in common between the two: It was the dream of every child who played tennisyes, and I believe it is still the case today. I remember, in times closer to us, the many discussions about a possible change of location. I was on the side of those who claimed that we couldn’t find anything better than this, and I wasn’t wrong. The Foro Italico is part of Rome, of its history. He has the Tiber flowing alongside him, Monte Mario protecting him behind him, and all the Romans who pass by feel him as part of them.
I played with a Colombian on my debut, Alvaro Pena was his name, and I won. Then I met Ray Ruffels, an Australian, and I broke him a set. Beaten with honour… All things considered, it had even gone well for me, but the Internationals have always been a demanding tournament, and in the following years I often got wrapped up when I took to the pitch. Maybe it really was those eleven match points against Warwick, in 1976, freed me from anxieties. The poor guy (Kim, he was also a friend) didn’t know that the following year we would find ourselves on the field in the same conditions.
Not in Rome, but at Queen’s, on the grass. He won the first and was also ahead in the second set. He took it back once again by canceling eleven match points. I took home the second set and went 2-0 in the third when I saw him approaching the net, his look dejected. “I’m not playing with you anymore,” he told me, and walked away while I chased after him to bring him back. There was greater disenchantment, yes. I think it could still be useful. Not to tennis, but to the aftermath…
Today’s tennis is only for great professionals, even among the youngest. I admire them, in some ways. How I admire Sinner, who I believe is the exact opposite of what I was in character. I appreciate him because he confidently sends out important messages. Telling today’s kids that everything is possible, as long as they study and accept sacrifices, makes them almost revolutionary. I’m sorry it’s not in this edition. It could have been his tournament, and for me a new liberation.
He will win soon, even at the Internationals, I’m sure. And he was right to stop, you can’t joke with your hip. Maybe he would have been better off doing it earlier and skipping Madrid. But these are the discussions of the future, which are of no use to anyone or anything. I take a look at the board and read many Italian names. The applause intended for Sinner will be shared. There are twelve of them, a platoon without a captain. Unless someone wants to take on this role. I hope so. And I root for them.
