Suddenly Fans of Tennis: A Lighthearted Case of Mimetic Desire

Last week, in Habemus Papam: A Pause in Our Series on Composite Models, we reflected on how the election of Pope Leo XIV offered a vivid moment to observe mimetic desire in action. As we noted, few roles are as ripe for projection as the papacy—millions around the world instinctively look to the new pope not just for leadership, but for cues about what to admire, imitate, or desire. Ostensibly, these cues are around questions of religion and faith, but as we will see, they can be far more neutral objects of desire as well.

In that spirit, Ascension Press recently shared a list of “16 Fun Facts About Pope Leo XIV” to promote their upcoming book. Two entries on the list stood out—not only for what they revealed about the man but also for what they revealed about us.

First:

2. Pope Leo likes to play Wordle!
In a light moment before stepping into one of the most sacred decisions in the Church, Pope Leo was playing Wordle! According to his brother, the soon-to-be pontiff squeezed in a quick puzzle session right before the Conclave—proof that even popes enjoy a little brain game before making history.

A charming anecdote, but note the tone: the desire belongs to the pope alone. It’s presented observationally, without any pull toward the reader. It’s almost confessional, relayed through the eyes of a brother, not an admirer. And crucially—it’s static. “He played Wordle” doesn’t radiate movement. There’s no sense that he’s still chasing the next puzzle. No one, including the writer, seems particularly tempted to pick it up themselves.

Now compare:

8. Pope Leo’s favorite sport? Tennis!
The new pope brings a new athletic interest to the Vatican. Argentinian Pope Francis fancied soccer, but it sounds like Pope Leo XIV won’t pass up a game of tennis. We suddenly find ourselves fans of tennis, too! The sports news site Bolavip reports him telling an Argentinian newspaper:
“I consider myself a great tennis fan… Since I left Peru, I’ve had few opportunities to practice, so I’m looking forward to getting back on the courts.”

Here, the mimetic current is fully alive, not just in the pope’s ongoing desire, but in the author’s response. “We suddenly find ourselves fans of tennis, too!” is an admission that desire has already moved. It’s self-aware. It’s mildly humorous. But it’s also revelatory.

What makes this moment so rich isn’t just the pope’s comment. It’s that someone, perhaps unconsciously, let their mimetic shift slip into the copy. It’s an honest, even vulnerable, moment of self-mimesis: I like it because he likes it, and I know it, and I’m telling you anyway.

That’s why Wordle doesn’t provoke the same imitation. The pope’s tennis is desire in motion—present tense, public, kinetic, and attractive. Wordle is past tense, private, cerebral, and disposable. No inertia. No mimetic energy.

So what do we learn?

Mimesis isn’t always nefarious. Sometimes it just nudges us to pick up a racket. But its effects are constant, often hidden, and deeply formative.

It matters who we admire. It matters who shapes our sense of the good. And it matters that we occasionally pause, chuckle, and ask: “Why do I suddenly care about this?”

That question, asked regularly, is the beginning of freedom.