Comeuppance in sport can be a deeply satisfying, revenge-laden dish. Isn't that right, Nick Kyrgios?
There have been many examples: Mike Tyson, the snarling, menacing, I'll-eat-your-children fighter being knocked out by huge underdog Buster Douglas in their world heavyweight boxing bout in Tokyo in 1990.
Douglas was so clearlyexpected to be another victim of Tyson's destructive style and form that one journalist called him "just another frozen tuna from the Tokyo fish market". Douglas knocked out the 23-year-old Tyson in the 10th round.
Tyson was never the quite the same afterwards; neither was Douglas. He lost the next challenge to his crown from the redoubtable Evander Holyfield.
In cricket, England fast bowler Greg Thomas was repeatedly whistling deliveries past the edge of the bat of West Indies great Sir Vivian Richards. After Richards, having an off day, sparred at yet another ball – and missed – the frustrated bowler caught the ball thrown back to him by a fielder.
Instead of heading back to his mark, he advanced on Richards, holding up the ball. "It's red, it's round, it's got a seam on it. Now bloody hit it."
Richards received all this without facial expression or comment, robotically chewing his gum, as was his habit then. The bowler's next delivery arrived at express pace. Richards stopped chewing long enough to hit it over the midwicket boundary and out of the park.
As the frustrated bowler glumly watched the search for the ball, Richards approached him, patting out little imperfections in the pitch with his bat as he did so. "Hey, you," he said. "You know what it looks like. Go find it."
In more recent times, there was Novak Djokovic's comeuppance when he tried to enter Australia to compete in this year's Australian Open tennis – only to be deported.
That incident was followed by another as Kyrgios and his great mate Thanasi Kokkinakis won the doubles at that tournament, beating New Zealand's Michael Venus and partner Tim Puetz in the quarter-final – but only after a disgraceful display of opponent-baiting, whipping up the nationalistic Aussie crowd against the Kiwi and German.
Nick Kyrgios and Thanasi Kokkinakis of Australia during the Australian Open. Photo / Photosport
With Kyrgios' arm-waving egging them on, the crowd jeered when Venus or Puetz served into the net and cheered when they double-faulted. Kyrgios also taunted Venus when, affected by the noise and the partisan alliance with the crowd, he got his ball toss wrong when serving. Kyrgios ran around the court on their serve, antics which distracted the opponents.
Such behaviour is supposed to be outlawed in tennis. The umpire is supposed to intervene. But somehow Kyrgios managed to turn things round. He complained noisily to the umpire about the length of time it was taking Venus and Puetz to serve, at one stage peppering his complaints with f-bombs. Instead of quieting the crowd, Kyrgios wound them up even more.
So imagine the satisfaction when Kyrgios departed from the Indian Wells tournament at the hands of the ice-cool Rafael Nadal – the perfect antidote.
Players geeing themselves up in tennis – and other sports – using imaginary or real complaints is not new. John McEnroe, as fiery a competitor as has been known in tennis and now a perfectly sanguine commentator, used to throw his toys out of the cot for much the same reason (albeit nowhere near Krygios' bogan style).
McEnroe would never have dreamed, for example, of announcing in public – as Kyrgios did during a match – that a top player's girlfriend was cheating on him by sleeping with Kokkinakis.
So when Kyrgios pulled all the crowd- and opponent-baiting stuff at Indian Wells, it was enormously satisfying to watch it being undone by Nadal, whose calm resolve won out.
Kyrgios went through his whole bag of tricks, deliciously complaining to the umpire of the very thing he had encouraged in Melbourne – the crowd calling out between first and second serves; he railed at the umpire, using foul language, he threw his racket, argued with courtside fans, had temper tantrums.
"It's your job to control that," he yelled at the umpire about the crowd noise. "It's bullshit, man, the crowd can't scream things out." Hilarious, right?
In a close match, Nadal eventually triumphed. Days before, in a press conference, he had talked about his childhood and the instillation of certain values, including his ability to fight back on court.
"My uncle, my family, never allowed me to break a racket, never allowed me to say bad words or throw or give up a match. Probably when I was a kid, they didn't care much about winning or losing," Nadal said. "Of course, [they] … wanted me to win every single match. But probably that was not the most important thing. The most important thing was the education and the fact that I grow with the values, with the right values.
"So … I had to do it that way. If not, I will not play tennis. If I went on court and I create a circus or break a racket or lose my control, my self-control, I will not be playing the next tournament, without a doubt. That's probably why I have this mentality."
What is Nick Kyrgios next to that? Just another frozen tuna?
