He’ll become the first player in history to hit a service return while standing in the service box itself but it’s a fault, so he spins on his heels and retreats to the more traditional zone of the baseline.
But he retreats right on past it, venturing so far south he ends up down near the back fence, looking like he may leave the court altogether. You’re done, bro? He eventually takes his stance near the linesmen and the ball kids, back where Rafael Nadal will return from if he’s ever sent out to the boondocks of Melbourne Arena.
It’s nuts. Nonsensical. Wildly entertaining. What on earth are you doing?
There’s about a 20m difference from where he returns the first and second serves. He does it with a completely blank face, like Elliot Goblet telling a joke, like there’s nothing unusual going on.
Kyrgios plays Frenchman Gilles Simon on Thursday. Cue the Benny Hill music. Simon is a tough nut to crack. He will not raise an eyebrow at any mischief from the other end.
He’s an old-school character who compensates for a lack of power with an abundance of cunning. He’s 35 years of age and his best is behind him, but he’s still the world No 61 and no easy assignment.
Years ago at Roland Garros, I’ve seen him stop on his way to a match on Court Suzanne Lenglen to drop his racquet bag and have a quick cigarette. He’s been the French captain at the ATP Cup; Kyrgios, to a degree, is walking into the equivalent of a match against Lleyton Hewitt.
Kyrgios gets to play a game for a living. Just a silly old game called tennis. They all wear their funny little socks and funny little shoes and funny little hats and their Joel Parkinson-style shorts, if they wish, and for this they are paid handsomely and attract giant audiences.
Kyrgios seems increasingly grateful for the fact.
He keeps himself amused by playing smaller games within the big game, as evidenced by his mad returns against Sonego, and against Simon he will get to do it all over again.
“That’s going to be a battle,” he says. The weapon of mass destruction, of course, is the serve that hisses and spits venom and goes like a rocket. ATP Tour statistics have him as the sixth best server in history, two places above Roger Federer and four above Pete Sampras, with John Isner at the top.
Those standings revolve around aces and percentages of service games won. A new analysis called Serve Value by Tennis Australia and Victoria University gives players a mark between zero and 100 for speed, spin and placement of their first and second serves. They’re hard markers: the averages out of the first round of the Open are all below 50. The rankings are more interesting, indicating effectiveness. Kyrgios has come in at No 5 on first serves and No 8 on second serves.
Talking about Kyrgios in French, Simon has said, “Bon service!” Good serve! Oui.
We are in the presence of a presence. He can fill a stadium with joy when he’s in the mood. The atmosphere is electrifying. Give him a mosh pit. He will not win the Australian Open. He cannot win seven consecutive best-of-five matches, and he sounds rather accepting himself of his eventual fate: a loss.
But it will be a rollicking good show for as long as he’s around. Ash Barty has done him a favour. He’s no longer carrying the can, holding the flag. He has never wanted to.
He’s more comfortable being part of the show rather than the focus of it. Sideshow alley suits him better. Predictions of exactly when he will go out are difficult. I can imagine him beating Simon but then losing to Russia’s Karen Khachanov in round three. If he beats Khachanov, I can totally imagine him beating Nadal in round four — but then bombing out to someone else in the quarter-finals. Who knows?
Perhaps he will win the Open! Perhaps he will be found in a flower bed at the Royal Botanic Gardens after a few too many beers.
He’s probably more human than most other athletes. More flawed, distracted, emotional. There’s some beauty and intrigue in that.
“I feel like I’m playing for a lot of people,” Kyrgios says. His compassion for firefighters and victims of the Australian bushfires is not the first time he’s shown a heart for issues outside of tennis. After his opening-round loss to Milos Raonic last year, he’s rolled his eyes about controversy surrounding Australia’s Davis Cup team, and in particular the disparaging comments from Bernie Tomic about Hewitt.
“It’s ridiculous, to be honest,” he said at the time.
“With all the issues that are going on in the world, we’re focusing on someone’s comments about Davis Cup. It’s pretty sad. It’s pretty sad.”
It was nonsensical at the time. If there’s so many more important things than tennis, why is it making him so angry?
He’s been more mellow, more caring and more composed this year. For now.
“I guess it’s just a perspective thing, isn’t it?” He says.
“Why am I really getting mad on the tennis court with everything going on?
“I felt like I was very focused. Every match I’ve played this year, I’ve been pretty good. It’s probably because of everything going on.”
Kyrgios is right. The silly old game called tennis is not the most important thing in the world. But important enough.
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The mad genius of Nick Kyrgios: wearing what appears to be Joel Parkinson’s boardshorts from the 2012 Pipeline Masters, he sprints at Lorenzo Sonego’s first serve like a Digger taking a bullet for a mate; like a Test batsman charging down the pitch to dispatch an express bowler to the farthest reaches of cow corner.