Kyrgios as champion? Perish the thought
With his customary modesty, Nick Kyrgios anticipated that his Wimbledon semifinal against Rafael Nadal would ‘‘probably be the most-watched match of all time’’.
Amid much angst and regret at Wimbledon, it shall not now come to pass. In many ways, Nadal’s withdrawal with an abdominal tear represents the tournament’s worst nightmare.
It is not just that the Spaniard’s pained retreat removed the subplot of his advance on a potential first calendar grand slam in men’s tennis since 1969.
It is the fact that Kyrgios finds himself, by dint of Nadal’s physical misfortune, waved through to the game’s greatest stage.
If Wimbledon were to select the first player in the Open era to receive a walkover into the final, you doubt Kyrgios would be uppermost in their minds.
For here is a man who has weaved mayhem all fortnight, gratuitously abusing line judges with no power to defend themselves, while delivering a display of such supreme malevolence against Stefanos Tsitsipas that the Greek branded him a ‘‘bully’’ with an ‘‘evil side’’.
Truly, he makes John McEnroe look like a King’s College choirmaster.
In many ways, a Wimbledon final is the ultimate establishment occasion. It brings together royals, heads of state, Hollywood stars and cherished past champions galore.
Kyrgios, though, has such disdain for traditional protocol that within moments of his fourth-round win over Brandon Nakashima, he changed into a red cap to flout the all-white rule.
The very thought of him accepting the golden Challenge Cup from the Duchess of Cambridge is enough to make denizens of the members’ balcony gag on their strawberries.
It is, admittedly, a struggle to picture Kyrgios the victor being ushered upstairs for the obligatory small talk with the future king and queen. As anybody who has dared question him at these championships will attest, he tends not to bother with pleasantries.
Unlike with Nadal or Roger Federer, or indeed his potential opponent Novak Djokovic, deference is not his forte.
While the likely final between Kyrgios and Djokovic is manna from heaven for TV executives, the prospect will put Wimbledon on edge.
Over the years, pitting Kyrgios against the Serb has been akin to throwing bicarbonate of soda into a bath of vinegar. In 2019, Australia’s enfant terrible labelled Djokovic as ‘‘cringeworthy’’, alleging that he had a ‘‘sick obsession with wanting to be liked’’.
Mocking his post-victory habit of spreading love to all corners of the court, Kyrgios crowed: ‘‘If I play him and I beat him, I’m doing his celebration in front of him. That would be hilarious.’’
Wimbledon would be unlikely to find it quite so comical.
Although there has been a thaw between the two of late – the Australian even took Djokovic’s side in his vaccine row in January, threatening to ‘‘walk around Melbourne Park with my Novak mask on’’ – Kyrgios remains a dangerously unpredictable finalist.
Where Djokovic, Nadal and Federer, who have shared 16 of the last 18 Wimbledon titles between them, understand the art of being respectful, Kyrgios revels in his casting as the disruptor.
The mind boggles as to what he has planned in the event of winning, especially with a Netflix crew in tow.
This 135th edition of Wimbledon has already been unusually fraught, disfigured by lower-than-usual attendances, the stripping of any world ranking points due to the ban on Russian and Belarusian players, and even a fight between security guards.
While Wimbledon balked at the prospect of presenting the trophy to Dannil Medvedev, they could yet be forced to glorify the most mercurial and polarising player of them all.
It marks, perhaps, a suitably chaotic finale to a tournament like no other.