When Jannik Sinner lifted the trophy on Centre Court and Iga Świątek delivered the first “double bagel” in a women’s final since the days of Dorothea Lambert Chambers, the buzz on social media wasn’t “what a match!” but “it needs an asterisk.” Some speak of “tainted titles” for two reasons: the brief bans for contamination with prohibited substances and, they claim, a slice of good luck—Świątek’s favourable draw and Grigor Dimitrov’s retirement in the quarter-final against Sinner. These are baseless claims, and it’s worth explaining why.
The ‘Positives’, Resolved. Świątek served a one-month ban after proving to the ITIA that the trimetazidine found in her samples came from a melatonin tablet bought at a pharmacy to combat jet lag. The verdict cited “No Significant Fault or Negligence,” resulting in a minimal suspension. Sinner, who tested positive for clostebol in 2024, accepted a three-month ban; independent experts traced the substance to a healing spray used by his physiotherapist, with no evidence of intent or lasting competitive advantage. Both have therefore already paid a sporting price according WADA and ITIA; further “asterisks” would be a double punishment—and sports law doesn’t work that way.
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Świątek’s ‘soft’ draw? A statistical myth. The Polish player did not face a Top 10 opponent throughout the tournament; that is true. But why? Aryna Sabalenka (No. 1) was knocked out in the semi-finals by Amanda Anisimova, who, with that victory, will climb to world No. 7 next week. Liudmila Samsonova (No. 17) and Belinda Bencic (No. 20) were far more dangerous than their rankings suggested, coming off stellar grass-court seasons. In the final, Anisimova paid the price for her nerves and won just nine points in the first set, but she was still the player who had just vanquished the world number one. The draw offers no gifts; it simply punishes those who can’t handle the pressure.
Sinner’s ‘gift’: one match, not the trophy. Dimitrov retired with a torn pectoral muscle at 6-3, 7-5, 2-2; he was leading by two sets to love and Sinner’s right elbow was strapped, but a tournament doesn’t end in the Round of 16. Two days later, the Italian dominated Ben Shelton (No. 10) and then Novak Djokovic (No. 6) in three sets, and in the final, he came from behind to defeat the two-time defending champion Carlos Alcaraz, the ATP No. 2, in four hard-fought sets. If that’s “fortune,” then Machiavelli was right: fortune allows itself to be mastered by those who possess virtue.
Nick Kyrgios and the court of likes. A solitary asterisk tweeted by Kyrgios lit the fuse for the social media pile-on: swift insinuation, zero proof. His own past as a finalist who benefited from a walkover makes him a less-than-credible witness, but on social media, reach matters more than the record. His peers in the locker room, however, applauded; even Djokovic admitted he was outplayed, while citing his own precarious physical state. Therein lies the difference between those who play and those who tweet.
Virtue versus Fortune. In Chapter XXV of The Prince, Machiavelli divides the world in half: fortune governs fifty per cent of our actions, while the other half is down to the virtue with which we confront it. Świątek and Sinner faced unexpected obstacles—anti-doping tests, their own and others’ injuries, the rain and wind of a London summer—but they overcame them thanks to their technical preparation, mental fortitude, and adaptability. No deus ex machina can alter that: the score is on the board, not on an X timeline.
To label Wimbledon 2025 with an asterisk would be to ignore official rulings, ranking statistics and, above all, what happened on the court. The misfortune of contamination and the “fortune” of a favourable draw or a retirement are events that the rules have already accounted for: penalties served and paid, matches won and lost on the grass. Those who keep talking of fortune know not what they say—just as Machiavelli warned five centuries ago.
