manekinekodumbo

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i love sports journalism so much they really said 'sinner can be a robot but carlos is full of whimsy and has a pure heart'

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sincaraz x arrival (2016): if you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?

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sorry to be #bitter but the amount of times this 'aw sucks for daniil, but so happy for [insert player]!' has happened to him is one of the most tragic sports narratives to me. like what if u spend ur whole career on the wrong end of fairytales. what if every single loss you have turns you into a stepping stone for someone else's greatness. what if every upset you've caused makes you a villain but every upset you experience is celebrated as someone's fairytale run happy ending. what if the lowest moments of your career only exist for the happiest moments of others. what if the one big win you've ever been allowed is also nothing more than a blip in someone else's path of becoming the greatest of all time. what if all your wins and losses always end up belonging to somebody else, never yours to keep. what's left of you then.

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"Que guapo eres, muchacho."

source

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the crowning of an unwanted son

the idea of djokovic's distaste for sinner lies in the conjecture that he hates playing against the idealised ver of himself, of seeing the passage of time so cruelly leaves his bones- jannik is younger,more athletic, better. novak 𝘶𝘴𝘦𝘥 to be younger, more athletic, better). chronus realised the same when he saw zeus and his barrage of lightning bolts- and thus ending the golden age and ushering in a newer era. jannik being the unwanted heir apparent (less so his second brother, holger) and yet when he so swiftly decapitated djokovic and claimed the crown for his own (in a manner not so dissimilar to djokovic when he killed his forefather), he did it with the most mercy and respect to his father. thus, realising dojokovic's fear and proving him wrong at the same. jannik bleeds djokovic's blood- his father ignored it (and thus became his blind spot), his son embraced it. in the end, blood is what betrays them both.

[saturn devouring his son by francisco goya // unknown // sinner's triumph against djokovic in roland garros 2025 // sinner and the killing of his father by emmanuele atturo // kunikida doppo’s the bonfire // sinner gave djokovic the "djokovic treatment" by emmanuele atturo // clarice lispector's soulstorm // shanghai masters final // infinite jest by david foster wallace // basta by marco van basten]

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the equal and opposite sincaraz djokoson psychological situations are so evil (positive). son of your two greatest rivals as the cuckoo in your nest vs your own son who inherited the things that made you great and proved that those things are exactly what made you unlovable. and they both live in your house

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I am such a big fan of your art!!!!!!!! The first piece I saw from you was the Loustat Yuri and it lives rent free in my head forever!!!!!!!!! You're so talented!!!!!!!!!!

wahh thank you anon!!

loustat yuri......remember when i told everyone that i was going to draw them in their Rue Royale era and then i got distracted by 1 billion other things......hahahhahaha....

anyways here's something i did really quick between work. it's super messy but i do miss them a lot >_<

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aryna's green nail polish is so endearing to me

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further thoughts on sincaraz winner's room:

bff: ok but i want the version where after umag '22 carlitos was practically vibrating out of his skin with anticipation because it's finally happening, they're going to make love fall in love and live happily ever after bang or whatever uh yeah that's cool it's chill and then he discovers that jannik doesn't believe in this sports tradition and is very politely but firmly like I Will Not Force You Into Anything Like This, Carlos, I Have Too Much Respect For You ...so i guess the answer is carlos just has to win every single final they ever play from now until forever so HE gets to control the outcome!

alacants: kajgkgkjl;fdgkldgfkl;fdgkl;gfgf scream oh my god that. does explain so much about roland garros. also lfjdkafjdfjdlk hahahaha no WONDER he was pissed about ao

bff: i'm laughing to myself thinking about this and beijing last year actually

alacants: UH HUH jesus yeah like

bff: SUDDENLY, HONEYMOON BECAUSE THEY BANGED

alacants: beijing → the week of—YEAH EXACTLY

bff: CARLOS WAITED TWO YEARS FOR THIS

alacants: wow are we sure this isn't actually happening

bff: i mean honestly i think this is just truth there's also something there about... there's no winners room for non-finals matches obviously but carlos does just turn up at jannik's door after their matches anyway "that was basically the final!" is not an excuse that flies when you're saying it because u want to bang ur rival, carlos

alacants: "i have a rival and i'm not afraid to say it" vs "this is the best rivalry in tennis"

bff: the most damning part will be the one time jannik actually gives in

alacants: wow... UH, YEAH, WHAT ARE YOU THINKING JANNIK

bff: this also explain novandy ok we're not going there

alacants: NO I KNOW like every single novandy fic from a certain era is just this idea writ large but there is something here about novak loses miami final → two uninspired first round losses → novandy split → novak wins geneva i can't quite put my finger on it but. it's there.

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on the topic of friendship on tour:

The greats in tennis often become known by their first names – Roger, Rafa, Serena – but the rest of us are known by a number, our world ranking. To a greater extent than in any other sport, world ranking determines who you play, where you play and how much money you make. Tennis players have a deep and lasting relationship with their highest ranking. (Mine was 129.) At a later Challenger event in Marburg, Germany, a then 18-year-old Grigor Dimitrov was new to the men’s tour and latched on to me before the delayed arrival of his coach. He knew that I was also travelling alone, and he rang my hotel room a few times. “Hey, wanna grab a pizza?” He was cocky, but friendly, and he knew he needed to earn his stripes at the Challengers. I liked him. He had won Junior Wimbledon and US Open Juniors the year before, and did not know many of the senior players. “I like watches and speak English perfect,” he told me with a huge grin. I chose not to correct him, remembering my Bulgarian was sketchy. He also confided, even more proudly, that “Sharapova likes me, man”. We practised together for the week. “Hey,” he shouted to me across the court during one hit, his eyes smiling. He went into an impression of my stiff-looking walk, then picked up two balls and did an impression of my serve. It was very accurate. And funny. Professional tennis players are usually very good physical mimics. It’s how they got good in the first place, by copying what they saw on TV and processing physical cues from their opponents. And Dimitrov, a world-class talent, was really good at it. They called him “Baby Fed”, because his style was nearly identical to Federer’s. I laughed back to him across the court, but suddenly felt my age. Several years later, I watched Maria Sharapova, now officially his girlfriend, cheering him on courtside at Wimbledon. I bumped into him occasionally, but his greeting to me became less and less effusive as his ranking climbed higher. By the time he had cracked the top 20, he was ignoring me completely. -- I was as bad as the other players when it came to not reaching out. Once you get burned by a player blanking you, you don’t try again. The ego is too precious. Best to strut on by. The best players on tour are usually considered the friendliest, as everyone wants to say hello to them, and they will usually say hello back. Tennis is an individual sport, of course, but players often need each other, more so at the lower level when they don’t have hitters and coaches travelling with them for practice. The general rule on tour is the higher up the rankings you go, the easier it is to find a practice partner for the few days before a tournament. The elite end of the sport is more of a fixed society, so players are generally more open to helping out fellow players they will run into again. [...] I made virtually no lasting friendships on tour through my seven years, despite coming across hundreds of players my own age living the same life as my own.

— Conor Niland, "The Loneliness of the Low-Ranking Tennis Player"