Journalist or writer… writer or journalist… why choose? Welcome the “journ-writer!”

Gianni Clerici, defying those who thought they could pigeonhole him, decided not to split himself in half, but to double himself instead—and for this, we will be eternally grateful. He loved to call himself a giornatore (a portmanteau of journalist and writer), because the secret weapon of his pen lay precisely in the ability to merge two parallel, often mutually impermeable worlds: on one hand, his newspaper articles, which became cult favorites for their unpredictable plots and their sophisticated, ethereal atmosphere; on the other, his novels, so steeped in the traits of reportage that the narrator’s gaze seems like that of a correspondent poking his nose behind the scenes to report the most hidden details.

The ideal opportunity to grasp Clerici’s talent for writing is offered by the Wimbledon tournament, the quintessential tennis competition and the oldest in the world. The edition in question is 1960, when the Australian Neale Fraser captured the men’s singles title by defeating his compatriot Rod Laver in the final. Laver was fresh off a legendary semifinal against our own Nicola Pietrangeli: it is this very match, which ended in the fifth set, that serves as our focus. Here, we see Gianni Clerici at work, first with the newspaper article and then with the novel.

On June 29, in the columns of Il Giorno, he recounted some highlights of the Pietrangeli-Laver duel:

Pietrangeli lost the chance to win Wimbledon against Laver: he lost it because he was conscious of it, while the Australian scrambled to defend himself without having time to think, to be afraid, or to suffer like Nicola did when the game slipped from his hands and the wind carried the ball into unexpected whims. […] But with the wind, Laver throws himself forward and Nicola’s game turns icy, it shatters. […] Nicola gets angry, unleashes three passing shots that Laver retrieves while somersaulting: he loses the point on the fourth, and our man gives him a “Trastevere gesture,” telling him to go to hell. […] And then comes this damned fifth set: Nicola has Laver in his hands, and the man slips away with flashes of genius.

These are confident brushstrokes, applied by Clerici with vivid, almost sensory and tactile writing—so much so that the match remains impressed upon the paper and can be felt clearly.
The style adopted in the literary counterpart is different, more elegant and measured. We find it in the novel Londra 1960, which, together with Costa Azzurra 1950 and Alassio 1939, forms the trilogy titled I gesti bianchi (The White Gestures), one of the most emblematic works of Clerici the writer. Here, the author lets his poetic vein run free, creating iconic images that move across the pages on the grass of the lawns in front of Centre Court, “among families having picnics, ladies with their incredible flowered hats, gentlemen who are too well-dressed, and children in colored blazers.” The match is described through brief, extremely suggestive flashes, almost like little poems embedded in the warp of the story:

Laver watches Nicola with his watery little eyes from beneath a reddish tuft: he screws the tip of his right foot into the yellowing grass, using it as a pivot to dash to the net behind the spinning ball, elliptical from the spin. Nicola awaited that projectile while hopping; he releases his arm in a wide backhand slap, and the ball pierces a blade of sunlight along the sideline while Laver lunges, bracing himself with his right hand to avoid falling, and finishes pirouetting as the crowd applauds […] Laver served a first ball that cuts the air like a whip. Nicola tamed that murderous ball, keeping its trajectory so low that Laver almost tripped over it.

The conclusion of the match does not favor Pietrangeli, who nonetheless manages to maintain his proverbial composure and preserve that humble yet noble bearing that made him a beloved champion both on and off the court. This is reflected in the words chosen by Clerici: “Nicola displays all his good grace; he embraces Laver and bows to the Duchess of Kent as if to apologize for not having been able to do better.”

London, June 29, 1960, semifinal: Rod Laver – Nicola Pietrangeli 4-6; 6-3; 8-10; 6-2; 6-4.

Still at Wimbledon, a couple of weeks later (July 15–17), the semifinals of the European zone of the Davis Cup were played between the British hosts and the Italy of Nicola Pietrangeli and Orlando Sirola. In the pages of Il Tennis Italiano from that era, a charming photograph appears, portraying the two Italian athletes in elegant suits, perhaps ironically whispering about the strict dress code in London, particularly within the gates of the All England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club.