That’s how it’s always been: If you’re up to your neck in water, the philosophers have to do it. After all, that’s what they’re there for. For years you can make halligalli, jet set, party, broom closet – great fun is guaranteed. But at some point the bill comes and the great emptiness takes hold. Then comes the hour of the teachings of salvation.
It was the same with Boris Becker: his fraud in bankruptcy proceedings finally brought him to a prison near London last year. Only a 40-mile walk from Wimbledon, where he had won the top tennis trophy three times. From the sacred turf to Her Majesty’s dark dungeons. He was at the bottom.
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