Bill Simons
I’ve been blessed to see some of tennis’s most unforgettable matches: Nadal overcoming Federer in the Wimbledon dusk, Alcaraz surviving three championship points against Sinner at Roland Garros, Jimmy Connors’ operatic 1991 US Open run. I saw McEnroe and Agassi barely escape humiliation against Zimbabwe in a hockey arena in Africa.
Yet, strange as it sounds, one of the greatest matches I ever saw showcased a young Nick Kyrgios, infused with energy, talent and potential, and the little known Italian, Andreas Seppi.
It was a steamy Saturday night at the 2015 Australian Open, and the intimate Hisense Arena was rocking.
Kyrgios lost the first two sets. No matter. The young Aussie had magic in his hands, thunder in his serve and lightning in his wrists. His touch was sublime, his shot-making audacious, his spontaneity intoxicating.
And the crowd believed.
Again and again, the Aussie Fanatics chanted, “I believe that Nick will win, I believe that Nick will win.”
The 10,000-seat arena was shaking.
And Nick did win, saving a match point and prevailing 5-7, 4-6, 6-3, 7-6, 8-6.
It was sports at its best: raw, communal, unpredictable, joyous.
More than anything, it seemed to be a glimpse of the future.
Sadly – can we say tragically? – Nick Kyrgios has only rarely been at his best.
The kid who seemed capable of anything evolved into a man who has disappointed more than any player of our era.
His stratospheric talent melded with spontaneous creativity. He became one of those rare players who defeated Roger, Rafa and Novak the first time he faced each of them. He reached the 2022 Wimbledon final, won seven ATP singles titles and an Australian Open doubles crown, and climbed to No. 13 in the world. He never cracked the Top 10.
Here was an almost Shakespearean arc. Too often his sublime gifts were torpedoed by his flaws. He teased us like no other.
For years, Kyrgios was tennis’ rebel in residence. He served with Isner-like thunder, improvised with the sublime inventiveness of Fabrice Santoro, carried some of Marat Safin’s mischievous appeal and McEnroe’s mercurial fire, and bore a chip on his shoulder worthy of Pancho Gonzales. Sadly, at his worst, his meanness recalled Ilie Nastase’s, while his love-hate relationship with tennis echoed Andre Agassi’s.
Too often he seemed more passionate about a Boston Celtic winning streak than his own losing streak.
Still, we were amazed. There were the serves struck almost before the ball seemed to leave his hand, casual 130-mph blasts, feathery drop shots, no-look improvisations, half volleys from the heavens—and circus tricks that were legitimate weapons.
If tennis rankings were based on highlight-reel shots, astonishing tweeners, thunderous serves, inventive flicks, viral clicks, cutting x-rated zingers, charisma, drawing power, and the sheer ability to make people ask, “Did you see that?” Kyrgios would be a runaway No. 1.
Instead, he’s given us with a torrent of what-ifs.
What if this free spirit and champion of spontaneity had possessed just a measure of Djokovic’s discipline or Nadal’s relentless focus and match management skills?
What if the man who celebrated going without a coach had embraced a strong guide who could have provided guardrails and perspective? An Uncle Toni Nadal, a Gil Reyes, a Darren Cahill?
How high might he have climbed?
Now those questions have become considerably darker.
The man who once declared, “I’d never in my entire life try and dope in this sport,” has now been provisionally suspended after testing positive for a cocaine metabolite at the Mallorca tournament in June.
“I made a huge mistake and I take full responsibility for it,” he said.
The news carries a brutal irony.
No player was more uncompromising in attacking Jannik Sinner after the Italian twice tested positive for trace amounts of clostebol. Kyrgios called the outcome of Sinner’s case “ridiculous” and insisted, “You should be gone for 2 years.”
“Your performance was enhanced,” he charged. “Massage cream…Yeah, nice.”
Now tennis’ loudest prosecutor finds himself in the dock.
Of course, the cases are hardly identical. Cocaine is classified under anti-doping rules as a substance of abuse and is treated differently from a conventional performance-enhancing drug violation. Sinner maintained that his positives came from accidental contamination, and a tribunal found he bore no fault or negligence.
Still, the irony screams.
Kyrgios has always been quick to judge. He criticized both Maria Sharapova and Simona Halep regarding their doping suspensions, using their cases to call out perceived double standards. He proclaimed, “Rule No. 1 – stop taking shady shit.”
All the while, his press conferences were must-see theater. Yet there was always a curious tell: Kyrgios often sat sideways, barely looking reporters in the eye. For all his swagger, confrontation seemed easier for him than connection.
Still, he was unfiltered, funny, perceptive, and often blistering. The man had more messages than Hallmark.
But there was another Kyrgios.
Years ago, during a match, he delivered one of the ugliest below-the-belt taunts in modern tennis, telling Stan Wawrinka, and us all, that Thanasi Kokkinakis had slept with Stan’s girlfriend.
His feuds were many. His fines piled up. In Cincinnati in 2019, an x-rated, racket smashing, bottle tossing meltdown cost him $113,000. In Shanghai in 2016, after an infamous tanking performance, he was suspended for eight weeks.
And there was always a vulnerability beneath the roar.
Early in Nick’s career, his mother Norlaila suggested that her son’s bravado merely served as a form of protection. He had to shield his inner self from the pressures around him, she explained.
“He can growl like a lion,” she said.
But the lion was vulnerable.
Years later, Kyrgios revealed just how vulnerable. He spoke openly of a dark period in which he had suicidal thoughts, self-harmed and abused alcohol and drugs.
Then, after pleading guilty in a 2023 assault case, which was ultimately dismissed without a conviction, Kyrgios said he had been in a terrible place and deeply regretted his behavior.
“Mental health is tough,” he said. “Life can seem overwhelming.”
Therein lies the difficult Kyrgios contradiction.
We have to hold people accountable. But we should also remember their humanity.
Kyrgios could be generous. He supported wildfire relief efforts. He connected with ordinary cafeteria workers in Indian Wells and kids in wheelchairs in Madison Square Garden. He could be funny, insightful and warm. Few players were more popular in the locker room.
And few could wake a sleepy tennis arena faster than Kyrgios.
That’s why today’s news feels sadder than scandalous.
Back in Hisense Arena, when Nick was just 19, his mother told me, “He might appear cocky, but it’s mostly a front.”
His future then seemed limitless.
His haircut was cool. His emotions were hot. His shoes were beyond bright.
“So is his future,” I wrote.
More than a decade later, that sentence stings.
Kyrgios now says the injuries that have ravaged his body have also taken an enormous psychological toll. “My body hasn’t been able to do what my mind expects it to do,” he explained after revealing his positive test.
He also acknowledged the difficulty of accepting that his career may be near its end.
For years, Nick Kyrgios insisted on doing things his way. His authenticity was rarely questioned. We loved his spontaneity. Few athletes celebrated freedom with such reckless abandon.
He rejected convention. He rejected coaches. He rejected other people’s judgments. He was tennis’s freest man, the rebel who once essentially told us: “This is my life.”
Fair enough.
But freedom has consequences.
And, now, perhaps near the end, the most haunting Kyrgios question is not what he did.
It is what he might have been.
I can still hear that Melbourne crowd.
“I believe that Nick will win!”
Ten thousand voices believing in the kid with lightning in his wrists.
For one unforgettable night, he made believers of us all.
Excellent commentary once again. Keep them coming!!