And so the summer ends for Nick Kyrgios, the talented and tortured
Australian tennis player, with yet another memorable performance that he
would probably like to forget. On Wednesday, in the first round of the
U.S. Open, Kyrgios, whom I profiled for the magazine, in
July,
faced his countryman and friend John Millman, who is ranked No. 235 in
the world. (Kyrgios is No. 17.) After dropping the first set, 4–6,
Kyrgios cruised through the second, 6–1, playing solidly if not
spectacularly: smashing short balls into open court, smoothly directing
his backhand down the line, toying with spin and different speeds. Early
in the third, though, Kyrgios started to grab his shoulder, wincing—the
latest in a string of injuries that has bothered him all summer. With
that, the match took a characteristically bizarre turn.

Clearly in pain, Kyrgios began to unravel. He argued with the umpire
after a line judge reported his swearing. (“Hearsay!” Kyrgios claimed.)
He asked a ball boy to help him stretch out his arm. After dropping the
third set, he dramatically smashed his racket. When the trainer came out
for a second medical visit to treat his shoulder, Kyrgios started
talking morosely. “It’s, like, I’m feeling good, I finally have a good
week last week,” he said to the silent trainer, for all to hear. “And
then I come to the U.S. Open, playing really well, feeling good, playing
a tough match against an Aussie . . . It’s just rough, it’s rough, man.”

And it was rough. After limping through the French Open, Kyrgios had
bowed out with an injury during the first round at Wimbledon, retired
with another injury in his first match of the hard-court season, and
lost to the surging Alexander Zverev in Montreal. But he looked healthy
and refreshed when he arrived in Cincinnati for the Western & Southern
Open, the last big tournament before the U.S. Open. There, on his way to
making the final, he beat the world’s new No. 1, Rafael Nadal, in
straight sets—sending down serves that neared a hundred and forty miles
per hour, dazzling with trick shots, troubling Nadal’s topspin forehand
with spin of his own.

His candor with the press after that match was almost as impressive as
his play. Kyrgios spoke then, as he had spoken to me earlier, about his
ongoing struggles with motivation. “It’s easy to get up for these
matches”—center court, cameras, Nadal. “The problem for me is trying to
bring it on an everyday basis, say, center court of Lyon with, like,
fifteen people. Against Nicolás Kicker earlier this year, I lost.
Tonight I’m playing Rafa, and I win. These matches aren’t the problem.
It’s those matches for me.”

Against Millman, Kyrgios lost power on shots and started to spray
errors. He sliced volleys that drifted into the net. He looked more and
more miserable. He left the court holding his wrecked racket—which
wouldn’t fit in his bag—serenaded by a chorus of boos.

Had he won, he would likely end up facing Federer in the fourth round—a
Federer who, physically, is not at a hundred per cent. It was a
remarkably easy draw in a wide open field. But now it’s hard to see what
comes next. “I keep letting people down,” Kyrgios told the press
afterward. “I don’t know.”