These are the worst times to be politically correct.
Let no one be confused. This is not censorship. It is only about saying whatever it is without having to use the repertoire of insults or disqualifications because someone thinks or expresses different tastes.
If Donald Trump, former US president admired by the intolerant (whatever language they speak), left a legacy, it is that: the outburst.
The reflection arises after the last US Open, in which there has been a communion in rudeness, as never before, between certain players and the public gathered in the largest tennis forum (by capacity) in the world.
The spectators (in smaller numbers) returned to the stands after the pandemic (although it continues to infect). Perhaps the return of humanity created a special mood. “The crowd is the third player,” said mega champion Chris Evert, a regular commentator on ESPN. Looking in the rear-view mirror, the tennis lady would have fumed, lightning, thunder and lightning! If, disputing a title of the greats against her nemesis Martina Navratilova, the crowd would have dedicated herself to boo her, without respecting the sacrosanct rule of silence every time double faults or errors are taken out or celebrated.
But that is what is now celebrated. The hooliganismo sided with Novak Djokovic. It was promoted by the Serbian spectators – neither the Argentines with Juan Martín del Potro or the Spaniards with Rafa Nadal went that far – and the locals supported it with passion.
Djokovic, a regular villain on the Arthur Ashe court, acquired the rank of superhero. Americans are excited to be the top of the line. And this time, No. 1 was playing hard. Not only could he win the 21st title and unseat Roger Federer and Nadal – that will happen soon – but he was going to clinch all four Grand Slams in one year.
Such a feat has not been recorded since 1969 when Rod Laver achieved it for the second time. Back then it was still played with wooden rackets, those Dunlop or Slazenger that are now part of museums and that for Djokovic are something as unknown as the Olivetti typewriters for generation Z.
New York wanted to hang the medal of historical place. And the Russian cover won, Daniil Medvedev. The adolescent smile of Emma Raducanu also triumphed, unseating the favorite of the public, the also adolescent Leylah Fernandez, a living portrait of the new era in which anything goes, including disrespect, to win. Oh, sorry, respect is political correctness.
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