There’s a certain kind of light during tennis afternoons, when the sun hits the courts and the silence between points feels like a held breath. It’s a sport of grace, of nerves of steel—because no matter how precise you are, one bad bounce can cost you everything. But all it takes is a quick glance at social media (and increasingly, even the stands) to realise that even in the most predictable and straightforward trajectories, its fans know how to turn the game into a screaming marketplace, where accusations are sold and cheap certainties are bought. Take Umberto Ferrara and Marco Panichi—two athletic trainers who, for opposite reasons, have ended up chewed and spat out by Italian, Serbian, and global fanbases alike. Their crime? Essentially, training world number ones.
Let’s start with Umberto Ferrara, the man who, for many (say, the #sinneristi on the social media), has become the symbol of an unforgivable mistake. In March 2024, Jannik Sinner tests positive for Clostebol at Indian Wells. The investigation reveals a surreal sequence of events: Ferrara buys a topical spray, Trofodermin, for is own chronic condition. Giacomo Naldi, the physiotherapist, applies it for is own small cut and then massages Sinner without gloves, transferring the substance. A banal accident, a speck of misfortune that WADA, after months of investigations, ultimately defined as: “This was a case that was a million miles away from doping,” —WADA general counsel Ross Wenzel told BBC Sport.
No malice, no intent. Exhausted by WADA’s pressure, Sinner agrees to a three-month ban away from Grand Slams—on WADA’s proposal—which in no way, under any legislation, amounts to an admission of guilt (see our article here). Ferrara and Naldi were both cleared of all wrongdoing.
And yet, when Matteo Berrettini hires Ferrara in November 2024, fans go wild. “A scandal!” “He shouldn’t be allowed to work again!” they cry on social media, as if Ferrara had orchestrated some master plan instead of stumbling into misfortune.
The paradox is plain: if Ferrara were guilty, so would Sinner be—under the same strict liability anti-doping rules.
But ITIA and WADA made it clear: no intent, just bad luck. So why the public lynching? Because fans can’t stop. They can’t read beyond the headline. They can’t tell the difference between a mistake and a crime. Sometimes you wonder if they can read at all. Ferrara becomes a monster to be taken down, the scapegoat for a rage that has nothing to do with justice and everything to do with blind tribalism. And often, these are people completely detached from the actual world of tennis.
Anyone who witnessed Sinner’s rise from fragile talent to world number one knows how central Ferrara was: he transformed a physically delicate player—who used to withdraw or show up in poor condition four times a year—into the machine we know today. Before and after the Clostebol case, Ferrara was there, guiding with love and expertise. Those who saw them together know it. Those who didn’t, talk. And in doing so, they not only slander Ferrara—they indirectly hurt Sinner too.
Panichi, the Invented Traitor
Then there’s Marco Panichi, the other side of this twisted coin. He spent years sweating beside Novak Djokovic, from 2019 to 2024, shaping the body of a timeless champion. After many months and the end of that collaboration—Djokovic’s own decision—Panichi joins Sinner’s team. A logical move. A top-level professional joining the world number one’s camp.
And yet again, fans (say, the #nolefam on the social) cry foul. In March 2025, an old Sky Sport interview from a year earlier becomes the pretext for an absurd media crucifixion. Panichi had said something harmless: “From a mental standpoint, the Davis Cup match took a greater toll on Nole,” referring to the 2023 semi-final lost to Sinner. A technical comment. Obvious to anyone who understands tennis.
Yet someone twisted it into fake news: “Djokovic hates Sinner—Panichi reveals all.” The result? A wave of abuse, especially from Serbian Djokovic fans, who paint Panichi as a traitor, a turncoat biting the hand that fed him. He ends up closing his Instagram account, maybe tired of the noise he didn’t deserve.
Here too, the stupidity of fans shines through: they take a sentence, rip it out of context, blow it out of proportion, and turn a respected professional into a soap opera villain. Never mind that Djokovic himself, in Doha, February 2025, praised Panichi’s work with Sinner. Never mind that Panichi spoke with admiration about Djokovic—about his relentless pursuit of improvement, which in his view aligns him closely with Sinner (currently world number one, not exactly a rookie). He acknowledged the continuity of Djokovic’s team, with respect. But fans don’t listen. They don’t read. They don’t think. They shout.
And the media?
They serve as megaphone and director of this endless circus. “Ferrara, from doping to Berrettini.” “Panichi spills Djokovic’s secrets.” Headlines made to sell, not inform. Every word is bait in a sea of clicks. Every article an invitation to a verbal brawl.
It doesn’t matter that Ferrara was cleared of all wrongdoing. It doesn’t matter that Panichi never betrayed anyone. Truth is a footnote; drama is the main course. And the fans fall for it. Always. With a hunger that turns sporting narratives into low-grade soap operas. Painful to say, but in this social-media-driven era, even some players ride the wave of fan frenzy. Ferrara and Panichi: Victims of the Same Stupidity Two very different men—one caught in an unfortunate accident, the other in a ridiculous misunderstanding—end up in the same pot. Victims of the same blind fandom.
There’s something tragic in all this: the passion that should elevate sport drags it down to the level of a medieval square, where people shout “burn him!” without trial. Fans don’t see human beings, they see symbols: Ferrara the sinner, Panichi the traitor. It doesn’t matter what the facts say. That WADA cleared him. That Djokovic smiled. They want blood—or at least a scapegoat to parade around.
A Game Tainted?
So I ask myself: What kind of tennis is this? What kind of sport is it where a trainer can’t make a mistake without being crucified, where an interview becomes a weapon? It makes me furious—honestly—to see a game I love so much, so complex and beautiful, reduced to a ring for warring fan bases. Ferrara and Panichi don’t deserve this. Neither do Sinner or Berrettini. Did you see Ferrara in Berrettini’s box at the Miami Open? No. And imagine why—not because of facts, but because of the absurd noise from fans. But maybe the problem isn’t them. It’s us. Us, who cheer without thinking. Who judge without knowing. Who turn a bad bounce into a holy war. There was a time when tennis was a dialogue between player and audience—a pact of mutual respect.
Now, it’s a monologue of out-of-tune voices, a noise that drowns out everything, including the truth.
One might be tempted to take it lightly and say “it’s just social media stuff”, if it weren’t for the fact that death threats are being posted on social media.
📚 Further Reading: Fanaticism: On the Uses of an Idea
“Rage, absolutism, and the refusal to deal with nuance—these aren’t just characteristics of modern online fandom, but the deeper traits of a mindset that sees the world in black and white. In Fanaticism: On the Uses of an Idea, Alberto Toscano dissects how society labels and weaponises fanaticism, turning difference into threat and dissent into danger.
Our piece on Ferrara and Panichi traces the way two respected professionals were dragged into the tribal wars of tennis fandom. But the reactions they’ve provoked—from baseless accusations to online abuse—aren’t about facts. They’re about the need to choose sides, to signal loyalty, and to punish whoever breaks the imagined rules of allegiance. Toscano’s book helps explain why.
📖 For anyone trying to understand the psychology behind public shaming and polarized communities, Fanaticism: On the Uses of an Idea is an essential read:
🔗 Fanaticism: On the Uses of an Idea on Goodreads
