In one of the countless conversations we shared over more than 30 years, Guillermo Salatino, aka ‘Salata’, told me the following.
‘Last night, Eduardo Puppo and I spent two hours discussing this in bed. Between 11 p.m. and 1 a.m. We debated whether (Guillermo) Vilas’ last great willy was against Manolo Orantes in 1974 in Buenos Aires or not.’
Salatino, who died on 17 January 2026 in Buenos Aires at the age of 80, had a love for tennis that was never fanaticism, because he was interested in other things in life. But that love was unconditional, constant, faithful. Puppo, one of Argentina’s great tennis journalists, was capable of debating any topic related to the racket, and ‘Salata’ loved that.
Vilas’ last ‘great willy,’ which is what Argentines call the shot between the legs, with his back to the net, was in Buenos Aires, Salatino and Puppo concluded after reviewing videos in the middle of the night in New York.
‘It was the last one in an official match. After that, there were others in exhibitions,’ they agreed.
‘Salata’ liked to reminisce about his years as a high-level club player representing the Buenos Aires Lawn Tennis Club (BALTC), as well as recounting endless anecdotes that linked him to the greatest players in history, from Rod Laver to Roger Federer, from Martina Navratlova to the Williams sisters.
He knew and understood tennis as only someone who had played and loved it could know and understand. Those who knew him only from television or radio often believed that his life was that of a kind of Arab tennis sheikh. Nothing could be further from the truth: he was extremely careful with money, always with his family in mind.
“In Rome, I stayed at the Pensione Erdarelli for 15 years. A tiny door, you enter through a corridor, a narrow house, you are greeted by a couple over 70 years old… Rooms with five-metre ceilings, four by four, huge and dirty, falling off the walls because they were so faded. Of course, it was fantastically located 150 metres from the Piazza Spagna, but it was so miserable that when you got to your room, the cockroaches would say “buonasera” to you,” he told me in an interview I did with him at Wimbledon in 2023, which was the last of the 147 Grand Slam tournaments he covered.
In addition to his sense of humour, ‘Salata’ was a magician when it came to finding the right metaphor to explain complex situations in a tennis match with simplicity. This made him approachable and widely known (‘not famous,’ as he insisted on clarifying), allowing him to have an impact far beyond the specific audience of tennis and sports fans.
He loved tennis and journalism with a passion that was only surpassed by his love for his family. And he admired Gabriela Sabatini with luminous transparency and sincerity.
In 2009, a turning point in his life occurred with the death of his son Alejandro. I saw him suffer like never before, I saw him sad to a degree that I never imagined possible for this man of great stature, with his powerful voice and quick, witty repartee at any moment. But he carried on, finding refuge in the tennis he loved so much and in his family.
The fact that he was a columnist for CLAY in his later years was a source of pride for us and a constant reminder: journalism is not glamour, it is not fame, it is not likes, it is not showmanship. It is passion, conviction, persistence and many, many hours of work. ‘Salata’ knew a lot about that.
