By Luce Martini and Andrea Scaglione
Turin, November 2023 – The Gravity of Being Tsitsipas
The air in Turin in November is biting cold – “it’s the humidity,” they say – and in many ways, it’s just as cold inside the Turin Arena. Outside, the sun peeks through heavy clouds in short bursts; inside, the play follows the same intermittency, with some players warming up their strokes while others are already battling more against themselves than the ball.
The ATP Finals are the last grand dance of the season. Some arrive comfortably, others barely slide in, and then there are those – like Stefanos Tsitsipas – who already seem like survivors before even stepping onto the battlefield.
I see it on multiple occasions.
On Centre Court, where players test their shots, often against those they’ll meet in the group stage.
At Sporting Club, the private club that becomes a training refuge – though nothing about the Tsitsipas family’s approach to tennis is discreet. Their gazes cross like swords.
His father, Apostolos, ever-present, ever-directing, with that air of both a priest and a drill sergeant.
His mother, Julia, materializes out of nowhere – you saw her in the west stands, and the next moment, she’s under the east stands, descending towards Stefanos. She doesn’t like a background role; whenever possible, she intervenes, suggests, corrects, steps onto the court.
His brother, Petros – one of the most frequent wild card recipients in tennis history – seems present without really being there, a silent, almost marginal presence, yet part of the picture, part of the tension in the air. He watches, as if daring you to approach.
From the first rally, Stefanos’ tennis feels tight. You can see it.
It’s not just the injury slowing him down, though the physical issue is real and serious. It’s an atmosphere that seems to be swallowing him whole. His strokes are less fluid, less decisive.
There are moments when he looks for something in his father’s gaze but finds nothing but instructions. Every mistake weighs on him. Every ball out is a boulder carving invisible wrinkles on his forehead. The tension is unmistakable – in the few words spoken, in the way expressions remain frozen in place.
I notice it and point it out to Stefano Meloccaro of Sky Italia, whom I meet courtside after one of these training sessions:
“You know, I think he’s going to withdraw.”
He looks at me sideways, with that skeptical half-smile of someone who has seen it all.
“Come on, really?”
I nod. Because the more I observe, the more I feel that something is breaking. It’s not just the wrist. It’s not just the tennis. It’s something deeper, more ingrained.
This tension lingers for days, days charged with electricity, days where Stefanos seems like a man on trial, scrutinized by a family tribunal watching his every move.
Then She Arrives, and It’s as If the Sun Steps onto the Court.
Suddenly, like an unscripted shot, Paula Badosa appears.
The change is instant. It’s almost comical – if it weren’t so poignant. When she’s there, everything shifts. His mother stops offering advice, his father softens, even Petros smiles. Everyone smiles. And Stefanos… Stefanos lights up. Just seeing her is enough for him to shake off, if only briefly, the weight he carries.
It’s obvious, almost embarrassingly so: Paula is his only real refuge, the one steady point in a sea of expectations and tension.
And yet, even the strongest sun can’t chase away all shadows. Because then comes the match against Sinner, and reality delivers the bill. Stefanos fights, but it’s clear he cannot hold up. He’s a man whose air was taken away before he even stepped onto the court. His body won’t cooperate, his mind is elsewhere. He loses in two sets, almost without contest.
Two days later, exactly as I predicted, he withdraws after just three games against Holger Rune.
The Italian crowd, already in love with Sinner, doesn’t take it well – they don’t forgive. Boos, harsh comments, discontent. The widespread feeling is that a champion surrendered too soon. After all, the Finals’ regulations state that even if a player steps on court for just a few games, they still receive the prize money (see below). A detail fans don’t forget, especially since the night before his match against Rune, Stefanos had completed a solid training session – but the morning session was canceled.
For those who only saw the results, suspicion remains. But those who watched closely, who observed not just the tennis but the bigger picture, know the story is more complicated.
We know that his withdrawal was purely a medical decision. But it was also the beginning of a surrender to something bigger – a system that was suffocating him. Perhaps it was the first signal of a necessary change, the first step toward something different. But at the time, no one could know that.
What was clear was this: when his girlfriend was around, he smiled. And when left alone with his family, he faded away.
Turin, November 2024 – The Alternate Grace
A long shadow separates 2023 from 2024. Last year, Stefanos Tsitsipas looked like a young man carrying a backpack full of stones, weighed down by burdens measured not just in rankings and trophies. This year, the same young man walks the halls of the Turin Arena as if he has found something – or perhaps finally stopped searching.
I’m here again, this time for Racquet Magazine, witnessing this metamorphosis.
There are two ways to walk through an arena filled with champions. One is with your head down, the weight of the world on your shoulders. The other is how Stefanos Tsitsipas moves at the 2024 Finals: light-footed, a half-smile on his lips, racket in hand even when he doesn’t need it, without one when he does.
The others warm up for their matches. He plays for the sake of playing. Improvised shots against a wall, laughter with ball kids, a casual rally with whoever passes by, a few volleys with a Juventus footballer in blue jeans. There’s no longer the urge to prove something – perhaps because he already knows what truly matters.
The atmosphere around him has changed. No stern gazes from the stands, no family members courtside with a stopwatch and a look of final exams. Splitting from his father as coach was painful, but necessary – like loosening a knot too tight and finally letting air in.
Stefanos is still in the tennis world, but in a different role. He’s not among the top eight this year; he’s an alternate, “just in case.” And though he doesn’t like it, he admits:
“Not qualifying for the ATP Finals this year was a humiliating experience.”
For the first time, being an alternate feels lighter than certainty.
The 2024 Finals go on without him, officially at least. But looking at him, he doesn’t seem like a punished man. On the contrary. A year of detachment from everything and everyone may have done him good. The weight of his father as coach is gone, the suffocating family dynamics have loosened, and his relationship with Paula Badosa has seen highs and lows, breakups and reconciliations – but it’s more of an anchor than blood ties.
At the Pala Alpitour, instead of sulking in a corner, the Big Greek Guy Playing in the Hallways looks like a kid at a tennis club, bouncing the ball off walls, chairs, anything in sight. He smiles, jokes, chats with everyone. You might stumble upon him running through the arena during the semifinals, like an oversized butterfly flitting around the court.
A year ago, he moved like a man carrying the weight of the world. Today, he moves like someone who decided to leave it behind. The others play for the title; he just plays. A lesson learned the hard way, but one he finally seems to have embraced.
The Victory You Don’t Know You’re Looking For
Watching him, you can’t help but think about how thin the line between success and happiness really is.
Maybe, for Stefanos, this transition year was more valuable than any trophy. He learned that true victory isn’t just lifting a cup – it’s finding balance, playing with genuine passion, free from invisible chains.
And so, while the Finals spotlight shines on Sinner, a new man wanders the hallways.
A man who has discovered that inner freedom is worth more than any title.
A man who, finally, can smile without reservations.
All Photos by ©Luce Martini
📖 Further Reading: Gravity and Grace by Simone Weil
“The tension between weight and lightness, between struggle and liberation, is not unique to sport. The French philosopher Simone Weil explored this same duality in Gravity and Grace, a collection of reflections on suffering, transcendence, and inner freedom. Weil argues that human beings are constantly pulled down by the ‘gravity’ of their desires, fears, and attachments—but true grace is found in letting go, in releasing the burdens we carry. Watching Tsitsipas at the 2024 ATP Finals, one cannot help but see a similar journey: from the crushing weight of expectations to a newfound lightness, from tension to grace.”
📚 For those interested in exploring this philosophy further, Gravity and Grace is available here:
🔗 Goodreads
