There’s a new book about Novak Djokovic. Not that you’d know it by Barnes & Noble.

I ordered Chris Bowers’ “The Sporting Statesman: Novak Djokovic and the Rise of Serbia” back in July when I blogged about it only to find out when I came to pick it up at the store Sept. 2 that BN would not be carrying it. Meanwhile, several Barnes & Nobles are carrying “Seventy-Seven: My Road to Wimbledon Glory,” Andy Murray’s account of winning Wimby – last year. (BN has carried Bowers’ books on Roger Federer).

This is not to dump on Andy or even BN, although the store should’ve informed me immediately by email that it would not have the book I ordered. But what does a guy have to do to get some attention? Nole is, after all, the No. 1 male player in the world. He did win Wimbledon this year. Meanwhile, Andy has not exactly been lighting up the tour. What gives? ...

War, Novak Djokovic once observed, is the worst thing that can happen to anyone.

I sincerely hope he’s not destined to become a male Cassandra, bearing witness to the horror of the inevitable. But it certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?

In recent days, we’ve all been forced to bear witness to the kind of rage, terror and desperation that he no doubt experienced as a child of the Balkan conflict of the 1990s.

The former Yugoslavia at the 20th century’s sunset, New York at the 21st century’s dawn, Nigeria and Ukraine today, Israel and the Palestinian people eternally – the names change, the borders and media circus shift, but the stories are always sickeningly the same. Little boys mangled and murdered by mortar shells. Teenaged ones burned alive or kidnapped, never to return.

And now some 300 souls blown to smithereens on another ill-fated Malaysia Airlines plane, plucked out of the air as it were and scattered in pieces on the ground. And for what?

Lost in translation: Novak Djokovic and geopolitical incorrectness

Novak Djokovic, champion of peace