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Nobody remembers the matches of the first round of the big tournaments in which Rafael Nadal liquidate in three sets a tennis player who is just starting or who has not been able to rise to the hundred-odd number on the ATP list The fans, and since Nadal is here, that is half Spain, they do remember some very tough semifinal against Djokovic at Roland Garros, of the suffering against the tough Juan Martín del Potro and especially of the Wimbledon final in 2008, when he beat Roger Federer in which it has been considered the best game in history.
If in sport the victory is greater when the rival that is opposite is formidable and one wins after surpassing oneself and always with their own merits, in the brotherhoods many insist on imposing themselves only by the incompetence of the one in front. Those who belong to a brotherhood can speak so badly of another that they are on the same shift as the one who listens to them will come to the conclusion that they have to do with their interlocutor pure discard, because it is the only decent thing, and not because there is something worthwhile in it. To see something move in the street, in short, since the other seems to be a disaster.
Of hammer or of pencil, the gouge or the cornet, there will always be those who skin the opponent’s work and whoever hires the critic will do so with the feeling that in the end they are left with the least bad: a poor devil who has not managed to stand out for himself and who only listens because others are much worse than him.
Most likely, there is some twisted truth in what they say: they speak ill of others because they are not self-confident as to compete equally. They will have their unconditional followers who will be badly capable of curing the suffering disorders of thinking that the rival can overcome them, and nobody will tell them that they will be better if their opponents force them to overcome themselves. I know how to say that I am capable of appreciating ‘White Silence’ and ‘Requiem’, and that many times I choose a brotherhood in the street and I can enjoy it and yet, when I go home rummaging about what I have felt, I remember of the brotherhoods that I had to leave behind.
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