7 Aug

Do something.

Good luck here at the Open.  I wish you the best.  But then you gotta do something.

Get the fuck out of Monaco.  Monaco is for Russian mafiosi.  You’re not a Russian mafioso.  Stop acting like a movie star and a super model.  Put your pants back on.  And start acting like an athlete again.

And a Serb.

Go home.  I dunno: go to Chilandar for a while if you want.  Then go up to Durmitor or somewhere and get a cabin by yourself – or better, a cave.  Don’t play.  Run on the trails up there.  Your knees will be fine.  What do you need high-tech oxygen low barometer chambers or whatever the fuck they are for?  Run at high altitudes.  Grow a beard, eat stale proja and raw meat.

When the snows melt come down at Easter and find a court.  Does the one you first learned on still exist?  Go play there.  Do something for others; you’re a generous guy.  Help Marko with his game.  Or just give free lessons to anyone who wants them. “The giver’s glance gleams like gold,” Nietzsche says.  “You have a golden child,” your first trainer told your parents.  The problem isn’t your game or your body; it’s the spirit.

You let a couple of losses drag your ego down into a vicious cycle.

Be a Serb instead.

Your fans all love you like you don’t know.


Durmitor (click)



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