By Chris Oddo | Tuesday March 5, 2019
Forget about predicting what the rest of the season will be like for Nick Kyrgios. It’s a fool’s errand.
Yes, the Aussie has just wrapped up the most impressive week of his career in emphatic fashion, taming three Top 10 players and a Stanimal sauvage at the Abierto Mexicano Telcel in Acapulco, but we learned in 2016 that one shining week does not necessarily portend an altogether brighter future.
You just don’t know with Nick—and that’s part of the allure of the wildly talented and just plain wild Kyrgios.
What we do know, and what we should fully embrace, is the sublime tennis that this man is capable of when all systems are a go. At one point during his run last week in Mexico World Feed commentator Philip Studd commented on the stunning ease with which Kyrgios played the game. I thought to myself: YES! That's it! The essence of Kyrgios is that he is the antithesis of the all-too-familiar robotic, clinic-drilled tennis tactician.
The point that inspired Studd to make his observation on air was one of literally hundreds of jaw-dropping moments that Kyrgios produced as he powered his way through a draw littered with legends, strivers and potential minefields, while all the while engaging in mortal verbal combat with a stadium full of margarita-plied fans that were fully embracing the Kyrgios-as-villain ethos.
Kyrgios’ histrionics created a stunning backdrop to his tennis. As he deftly darted past a frustrated Rafael Nadal in the round of 16 (okay he limped a little, but you get my drift) who could resist comparing him to the legendary bad boy Ilie Nastase? Kyrgios’ three-set victory over Nadal, replete with an attempted, controversial underhand serve—HOW DARE HE?—and several other testy moments conjured images of Nastase v McEnroe at Flushing Meadows.
“McEnroe Triumphs after Near Riot,” read the Washington Post headline the day after Nastase was defaulted from his second-round match with the Eventual champion in Queens in 1979.
It was a different world back then, wasn't it?
There was never the threat of a riot in Acapulco last week, but there was a steady stream of uproarious edgy banter. During his semi-final with John Isner the Aussie needled his adversaries in attendance, saying “Hey Rafa fans where you at? Let’s get a flight to Indian Wells.” I'm sure he was happy to know that the on-court mics were likely picking up every word he said. Sure, why not piss off all of Rafa nation? Kyrgios executed this mischief while at the same time playing timely, confident tennis that eventually led him to a dramatic victory in a third-set tiebreaker.
Kyrgios thrived on the chaos this week, and this is perhaps the major difference between his Acapulco title and his Tokyo title in 2016. The two title runs stand today as pillars: moments that Nick Kyrgios bundled every ounce of talent and passion in his arsenal and did what he was born to do – make magic on a tennis court.
Magic has been fleeting, however, for Kyrgios. And that is what makes the 23-year-old former World No.13 a frustrating character to those that have had a taste of him at his very best. Like a drug, Kyrgios in a zone is euphoric. Naturally we WANT MORE. But we don’t get it.
During his run to the Tokyo title I wrote the following words about Kyrgios:
“This week in Tokyo he seems to have taken the challenge of producing his best tennis much more seriously. There is a more mature air about him and the tennis has sparkled perhaps more than it ever has. His takedown of Gael Monfils was one of the most impressive, jaw-dropping matches of the 2016 tennis season and hopefully it serves as a reminder to the Aussie that he can be an even more entertaining player to watch—and a more effective one—when he walks that fine line between being a showman and being a winner more carefully.”
What’s funny about that paragraph is that in it I assume that Kyrgios needed to temper his enthusiasm for the sideshow to be a real winner. What we learned last week in Acapulco is that the Aussie is more than capable of playing that jaw-dropping tennis that fans crave while he is simultaneously going off the rails and baiting the crowd into a verbal sparring match that is every bit as inconceivable as his tennis.
If it seems as if I’ve come full circle here it is because it was my intention. Because the fact is that we shouldn’t draw any conclusions about Nick Kyrgios’ future based on his recent past. We should instead act parsimoniously and try to wean ourselves off this dangerous drug that is Nick Kyrgios in full flight, because frankly there is no way to tell when we’ll be able to get our next fix.
This isn’t a knock on Kyrgios. And it isn’t to say that last week’s brilliance was a mirage. He is a generational talent, and he is a brilliant athlete that plays the game with an air of ease. His slippery deception, his jaw-dropping fast and loose arm, his ability to box up and ship out a perfect drop shot during the tightest of moments. He’s like a free soloing rock climber, it seems. The closer he is to death on a tennis court the more he seeks—and finds—blissful perfection.
Think of this piece as both praise and warning. Praise for the inimitable and glorious trappings of Nick Kyrgios’ game and psychology. There has never been nor will there ever be another like him.
And a warning: The magic comes when the magic wants to come—on its own schedule. And, as we learned in 2016, it can linger, surfacing for moments but leaving before the weekend, and rarely maintaining the same potency for long.