Nadal fans have enjoyed agonizing victories (many) and well-placed defeats (few). Our hair has hurt from pure transferred exhaustion, we have not broken rackets on the ground because we know how to lose, we have cried with the national anthem of Spain and we have seen the French crown us kings of Roland Garros, which is like saying Versailles. That’s more than winning tennis.
That is to say… we have enjoyed a world.
We were young when he went out on the court wearing capri pants and our hearts sank when in the 2008 Wimbledon final he consoled Roger Federer (who was crying) for having beaten him.
Rafael Nadal He is the best Spanish athlete in history. He has created a mystique that transcends sport and is born from the life lessons of his uncle and coach, Tony Nadal. He has experienced fame and success without scandals or eccentricities, he has sensible political opinions and charitable collaborations with which to identify.
As in the universe of networks any situation is possible, it also has its club of haters; people without a life of their own for whom it would be enough not to follow the tennis so as not to live angry. But there is a reason for the expression “feeding hate”: it is addictive.
Rafael retires (his family doesn’t call him Rafa, even though it sounds strange. Come on, Rafael! It doesn’t seem like a hit) and now we will continue the battle between Jannik Sinner and Carlos Alcaraz, although not with the same dedication (for the moment). And we will look for the women’s tournaments, which are increasingly fun, with Jasmine Paolini as our favorite.
Nadal has extended his career too much, say specialists. But if anyone can be forgiven for insisting, it’s him. Like the protagonists of Casablanca, we will always have Paris. That is, Nadal.
