That's the hard part about sport: as men we haven't started to

Boris Becker, the German prodigy who once conquered Wimbledon at the tender age of seventeen, later spoke with the candor of a man reflecting on both triumph and fall: “That's the hard part about sport: as men we haven't started to be in our prime, but as athletes we are old people. I needed support. I lost trust and did stupid things.” His words carry the sorrow of experience, but also the timeless truth that the lives of athletes burn like meteors—brilliant, dazzling, but often brief. In them we see the paradox: while their bodies are exhausted before the fullness of manhood arrives, their souls are left to navigate a new life without the glory that once defined them.

The ancients knew this fate well. In the Olympic games of Greece, the young ran, wrestled, and fought with divine fire. But once their speed was gone, many faded into obscurity, their strength no longer praised. To be an athlete was to shine early and to dim early, a destiny crueler than that of most men. Becker speaks for all who have faced this: the young body grows old before the spirit matures, leaving a hollow space that cries for support, for guidance, for trust. Without it, the path often leads to despair.

Becker’s confession also reveals the danger of lost trust. When applause fades, when the crowds no longer chant your name, the silence can be deafening. The champion who once stood unshakable before thousands may suddenly feel fragile and alone. It is in this fragile hour that many fall into folly—reckless choices, desperate acts, “stupid things,” as Becker himself admits. This is not weakness, but the tragic aftermath of glory lived too soon. It is the cost of rising high before one’s soul is ready to bear the weight.

History offers us many such stories. Think of Alexander the Great, who conquered the known world before he was thirty. He had victories that no man could match, yet he died young, restless, unable to govern the life that followed his triumphs. Or recall Mike Tyson, who rose as the youngest heavyweight champion, only to collapse under the weight of fame, fortune, and temptation. Both, like Becker, show us the same truth: brilliance without balance, glory without grounding, leads to downfall. The body may triumph early, but the soul must still be trained.

Yet there is heroism even in Becker’s lament. He does not hide his wounds; he admits his failures. To speak of lost trust and foolish choices is itself an act of courage, for it teaches those who come after him to beware the traps of early greatness. In his sorrow, he offers wisdom: that no man, however strong, can walk alone; that applause is fleeting, but trust and support are the true companions of a lasting life. His words are not only confession, but prophecy, warning future champions that strength lies not only in the arm but in the heart, and not only in victory but in humility.

The lesson is clear for all of us, whether athletes or not: do not confuse early triumph with lasting wisdom. Know that life is long, and the body and spirit move at different paces. Seek support when the season of change comes; do not be ashamed of needing others. Guard trust carefully, for once lost it is hard to regain. And when success tempts you to pride, remember that it is only one chapter in a greater story.

Practical wisdom follows. If you are young and victorious, prepare now for the years beyond your victories. Build friendships, seek mentors, ground yourself in values deeper than applause. If you are in the twilight of a season, do not despair; instead, turn your strength inward, shaping character, guiding others with the lessons of your own struggle. And for all, remember: foolishness comes when we stand alone, but wisdom grows when we lean upon those who love us.

Thus Boris Becker’s words become not only a lament but a teaching: glory is brief, youth fades quickly, but trust and support endure. To live wisely is to accept this truth and to walk with humility, courage, and the companionship of others through all the changing seasons of life.