- Video
-
Club Roar
Captured a great grassroots sporting moment? We want to see it!Content Collections
The Roar Community
- Join
- Login
Annually around mid-January, exhaustion overwhelms. It’s a period where I feel consumed with lethargy after binging on an overdose of Test cricket and indulging in too much festive cheer during the holiday season.
For a week or so after the SCG Test, my sports obsessiveness endures a brief sojourn and my focus switches to other leisurely pursuits such as watching films contending for the Academy Awards and (gulp) belatedly spending more time with the missus.
I follow the ODI and T20 craziness half-heartedly – enjoy the spectacle but not overly concerned with results – and ditto for the first week of the Australian Open.
I’m a tennis fan, although it’s down the list on my sports hierarchy. Basically, I’m solely a sucker for the majors and care scantly for the plethora of tournaments dotting the tennis calendar.
With men’s tennis so top-heavy this decade, there virtually hasn’t been much point tuning into the slams until about the quarter-final stage. The same familiar faces are virtually guaranteed to still be hanging around in the second week.
Watching straight sets yawn fests in the first week generally isn’t much fun. So, I don’t usually fritter my time away watching the first week of matches.
But this year’s Australian Open edition has been an unexpected surprise. I’ve actually been engaged in the early stages of the event. This can mainly be attributed to new Australian sensation Nick Kyrgios.
I know, I know, I’ve recklessly broken my ankles after shamelessly jumping on-board the Kyrgios bandwagon. I don’t care. Australian men’s tennis has needed an injection of something – more urgently than Uma Thurman did in Pulp Fiction.
Part of my decade-long tennis stupor can be attributed to one dilemma. I don’t like any Australian players.
It is difficult to feel detachment with your compatriots. I haven’t supported an Aussie player since nice guy Pat Rafter was amusingly uttering “sorry mate” with each aborted serve. He retired from professional tennis when I was still in high school – in 2001.
Hate to admit, but for the past decade my favourite players have been Federer, Safin and Murray – and I supported them even when against Aussies (*head bowed, I deserve your scorn).
For the past decade, I haven’t felt affinity with an Aussie men’s tennis player.
I never really was enamoured with Mark Philippoussis. I always thought he was a little contrived.
He seemed to care only about three things – fame, fortune and dating beauties. He had the credentials – booming serve and groundstrokes, athleticism – to dominate during the post Sampras/Agassi peak and pre Federer/Nadal rise of the late ‘90s and early 2000s.
Heck, Philippoussis even made two grand slam finals – US Open ’98 and Wimbledon 2003. Unfortunately, he didn’t care about being great at his craft, so why should I have cared for the guy?
I was never a Lleyton Hewitt guy. His hyper/revved up style overwhelmed. I hated his “C’MONS”. Hated his cap backwards. Hated his whinging. Heck, I even hated his ponytail.
I begrudgingly, through gritted teeth, cheered him during Australia’s halcyon Davis Cup days.
But with the rise of the men’s elite coupled with constant injuries, Hewitt has been largely irrelevant for about seven years.
He probably should have retired years ago and carved out the easier pathway of retirement – commentating (surprisingly he’s devastating behind the microphone) and playing on the lucrative legends tour.
Yet, he still grinds away, soldiering on seemingly forlornly. Now I’m pulling for him like a family member. If athletes hang around long enough, no matter who they are, they’re eventually going to sucker you into supporting them.
But with Lleyton it’s too late. He should be yesterday’s man. His unfortunate first round exit probably confirms an uncomfortable truth – Hewitt is unlikely to have a relevant moment in a major tournament again.
It’s an indictment on Australia’s dearth of talent that Hewitt is still perceived as its best prospect for grand slam glory.
Bernie Tomic? Basically, refer to my earlier spiel on Philippoussis. The parallels are uncanny.
Like most tennis players, Tomic feels like he has been part of the sports fabric for an eternity but he’s actually still frighteningly young. I’m still banking on eventual maturity transforming him into the player leading Australia back into a tennis renaissance.
So, I wasn’t too excited for the early stages of the Aussie Open. Yeah, I had heard about this kid hailing from a multicultural melting pot, who had dominated junior tennis. But we had been down this road before. Remember Todd Reid?
……(crickets)……
He’s the former junior Wimbledon champ who never made it inside the top 100 in the pros.
But Kyrgios is different. His career is at its tentative stages, yet, it appears unlikely he’s headed into irrelevancy that unfortunately bedevilled Reid.
Self-confidence is generally a characteristic intrinsic in successful athletes, heck people in all walks of life. Despite his tender age of 18 years, Kyrgios beguiles. He swaggers. He’s a magnet for tennis fans, and perhaps more importantly those with scant interest in the game.
Example? I was watching his second round match – a game where cramps was his eventual conqueror – with the missus and her family. I had somehow managed to win control of the remote that night.
Watching Kyrgios was essential for me, even if it risked marital tension.
None of my in-laws care about tennis. Yet all felt compelled to watch parts of the match and seemed genuinely enthralled by the teenage sensation. Here’s a snapshot statements from my in-laws:
He’s really good player.
The crowd love him.
The atmosphere is electric.
I can’t believe I’m remotely interested in tennis.
Point is, Kyrgios has presence, likeability and aura. Unlike Hewitt at a similar age, Kyrgios’ brashness is more contagious and doesn’t reek of petulance that stymied Hewitt’s popularity and forever afflicted his perception.
The crude epigraph to this column consumes Kyrgios’ Facebook cover photo. On Twitter, he’s uploaded inspirational words from Muhammad Ali. It’s easy to dismiss this as clichéd juvenile semantics.
But anyone watching Kyrgios can garner a sense he truly believes he is destined for greatness. He knows he has the potential and desire to be at the forefront of a new generation succeeding Federer/Nadal/Djokovic/Murray.
Most importantly, Kyrgios has the game to back up his heady dreams. He’s the perfect prototype in the evolution of men’s tennis – he’s tall (193cm) and powerful which propels his strong serve and commanding ground strokes from the baseline.
He’s agile and athletic enough to cover the court more befitting a player 10cm shorter.
Refreshingly, Kyrgios isn’t mired at the back of the court like most dictated by baseline slug fests this millennium.
He has a propensity to play at the net and possesses a competent volley. Sure, he’s not to be mistaken for Rafter yet, but hopefully with more tutelage and experience, he’ll hone his skill-set with a steady diet of serve and volley.
Wager some dollars on future Wimbledon glory for Kyrgios.
I can’t wait to see him in action again. Heck, I may even watch meaningless tournaments just to monitor his progress. I love his game. I love his entertainment value. I love his potential. Finally Australia may have found a tennis saviour (*quickly knocking on wood).
Whether it’s aces or races, try out Aussie bookmaker PlayUp for great odds and a great punting experience. Chances are you’re about to lose. Set a deposit limit.