from Melissa’s tears to five in the second round of Wimbledon against Alcaraz- Corriere.it

In the strawberry place, time never seems to pass. Reanimated by the healing green of a circle equal to itself for 146 years, the new Berrettini it looks tremendously like the vintage one, it was 2021 and for the first time an Italian tennis player emerged in the final at Wimbledon. “There’s something special about this place, perhaps because it’s the tournament that changed my life,” Matteo says with laughing eyes after eliminating Alexander Zverev, a minor surgical job supported by the best weapons of the blue (14 ace , 86% of points won on the first, often followed by the forehand sentence), only one break point (first game) conceded in three sets to the German (6-3, 7-6, 7-6), dominated in power but also in tactical sagacity by a player who has returned to having fun: «Incredible, I didn’t think it could happen. After so many days spent in bed crying over my injuries, here I am in the third round of Wimbledon, I’ve missed everything about tennis and now I’m enjoying every moment».

The new Berrettini is the twin brother of the finalist from two years ago, as if last year’s Covid (“It still gnaws at me…”) and the annus horribilis (so far) 2023 had never existed. Looked after by his Melissa, who is the last to high-five him in the tunnel leading to the centre-back when the match resumes after a 46′ interruption due to rain (plus various delays from the English, who hesitate before closing the roof and transforming Italy -Germany in an indoor match), the herbivore of the Nuovo Salario rediscovers the verve in the tournament from which he was about to withdraw (“But then I thought that at Wimbledon I am happy regardless of the result, and I left for London”), plays from n.6 in the world that he was (until 17 months ago, it was January 2022), he sweeps away Zverev and qualifies for the round of 16 against, alas, the n.1 Carlos Alcaraz, who went crazy yesterday to get the better of the Chilean lanky Jarry’s serve. It is useless to look so far ahead (“I faced Carlos for the first time three years ago, on the fast climb in Vienna. In the meantime he won a lot, I had my problems”), Alcaraz is an Everest to be climbed calmly and methodically, like poker cards the good sensations accumulated. The painful fratricide of his friend Sonego, overcome in three days (the rain saved Matteo, who had lost the first set and was hanging around the field disconsolately, but businesses also slip into the sliding doors of existence) has given him back the desire to suffer, the health walk with De Minaur gave him back the blows. The triumph with the Australian finalist at Queen’s gave us the measure of the progress of the blue, today n.38 in the ranking: the solidity of the forehand, the ineluctability of the serve, the ability to maneuver with that shot acquired as an adult but immediately metabolized and made natural that Sinner — verguence — does not yet have in its repertoire (the backhand), an ace up its sleeve on grass, especially when it becomes a precision razor like certain interventions on the courts of the All England Club gardeners.

If the physique holds (fingers crossed: today rest day after five spent on the pitch), nothing is impossible for this Berrettini. He reaches Sinner (today against the soft Galan) in the third round, recovers self-remembering, confidence, self-esteem, beauty. Now he serves the company with that Satanic Alcaraz but in any case he is a reborn and throbbing Berrettini, with a pounding heart and an electric beard. Like in the good old days.