There are few emotions more confounding, crushing and ultimately useless than the love affair between a fan and an athlete — confounding because, well, it’s one-sided really. I mean, you really don’t know the athlete, only what you project unto him, which is really a dream of yourself. Crushing, because the emotion is real enough. And useless, because, well, see 1. and 2.
So it pains me to write about Novak Djokovic’s thoughtless, coronavirus-infested, aborted Balkan tennis tour.
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