The sentence appeared almost silently, without press conferences or pointed microphones. Yet, within a few hours, that message signed by Johann “Hanspeter” Sinner began to circulate everywhere. He didn’t talk about trophies, rankings or rematches. He talked about identity. In a sporting world obsessed with immediate results, those words seemed to go against the grain, and this is precisely why they struck fans and professionals so deeply.
Johann Sinner was never an intrusive father. A former chef, accustomed to the silent discipline of Alpine cuisines, he has always chosen to stay one step behind. Those who know him say that he rarely comments on a hot match. He prefers to wait, observe, then speak calmly. The message shared publicly was, in fact, something Jannik had heard many times before, away from the cameras.
According to people close to the family, those words were born the evening before a particularly delicate match. Jannik was tired, mentally more than physically. Expectations grew, and so did the comparisons. Johann didn’t talk to him about tactics or opponents. Instead, it reminded him of the years when he skied at dawn and played tennis in the afternoon, when no one looked at him and no one expected anything.
The message, family sources reveal, was initially written as a simple private note. Johann sent it to his son without thinking that it would ever become public. It was Jannik, struck by the simplicity and strength of those words, who suggested sharing them. “If it helps me,” he would say, “maybe it can help someone else too.” From there, the decision to make it visible to everyone.
The heart of the message was in a precise sentence, composed of twenty-two exact words, which Johann had always used as an educational compass. Those twenty-two words were: “You don’t have to win today, stay true to yourself, accept defeat, get back up tomorrow, because courage grows when you learn to continue.” No emphasis, no rhetoric. Just a truth built over time.
Those who have followed Jannik since he was a teenager know that the relationship with defeat has always been central to his journey. He is not an athlete who hides disappointment, but not one who lets himself be consumed by it. A former coach says that after a bad game, Jannik remained silent more than usual. Then he returned to the field the next day, with the same intensity.
The “secret” that few knew is that Johann and Jannik had a sort of ritual after the toughest defeats. No immediate analysis. A walk, often without talking. Only later, perhaps over a simple meal, would a short sentence arrive. “What did you learn?” Not “what did you do wrong”. A subtle but decisive difference in building a resilient athlete.
When the message went viral, many fans recognized themselves not so much in the champion, but in his son. Johann’s words seemed to speak to anyone who had faced a setback, in sport or in life. Sports psychologists commented that that type of language strengthens internal self-esteem, not linked to the result but to the process. A rare approach at high levels.
Behind the scenes, they say, Jannik was surprised by the global impact. It was not his intention to create a motivational poster. Yet he received messages from other players, even more experienced ones, thanking him. One of them wrote to him: “I wish I had heard these words when I was twenty.” Jannik replied with a simple heart. Nothing more.
Johann, for his part, remained faithful to his style. No exclusive interviews, no additional comments. To those who asked him for explanations, he responded with a phrase that says a lot about his character: “These are just father’s words.” But those who know him know that behind that simplicity there is a profound vision: to grow a person even before a champion.
Another detail that emerged later is that Johann almost never watches the matches live until the end. If the voltage is too high, it goes out a few minutes earlier. Not out of superstition, but out of respect. “It’s his game,” he reportedly told a friend. “I can only stand by him when it ends.” It is a discreet but very powerful form of love.
In an era where parents are often accused of excessive pressure, the Sinner story offered a rare counterexample. Not the absence of ambition, but a clear hierarchy: first the man, then the athlete. That message, which went viral almost by chance, reminded many that true strength does not come from invincibility, but from the ability to get up without getting lost.
In the end, what remains is not just a phrase shared online, but a philosophy of life passed down over time. Before the most important moments of a career, when the external noise becomes deafening, it is often the familiar voice that makes the difference. Not to push you to win, but to remember who you are, even when you lose. And perhaps this is the real lesson: when everything falters, a sincere voice can keep you standing, reminding you that value is not measured only in the titles won. f
