The Nick Kyrgios Predicament
Later today, contentious Australian tennis star Nick Kyrgios will play in his second championship match of the year at the Citi Open, a tournament he emphatically won three years ago. If you don't follow men's tennis, or even if you do, it's easy to become mesmerized – or downright distracted, depending on the point – by Kyrgios's on-court exploits: he hits shots between his legs that absolutely don't call for it; he catches his opponents off-guard with underhand serves; he smashes racquets; he yells at his player's box, the umpires, the crowd, himself. And perhaps distraction is what Kyrgios is going for: during his historic march to the Wimbledon final this year (aided by a retirement from an injured Rafael Nadal), news broke of domestic violence allegations against Kyrgios by an ex-girlfriend. He's refused to comment on them despite his lawyer claiming that he "takes them very seriously."
Journalists with far more knowledge and expertise than I have covered these allegations and their potential consequences at length, so I won't add my measly two cents to that particular pile. Just a few days ago, the Washington Post published an opinion piece about how the Association of Tennis Professionals (ATP), the organization that operates men's tennis, has been even less proactive than the U.S.'s most conservative sports leagues when it comes to addressing domestic violence. The MLB, NBA, NFL, NHL, and MLS all have policies in place (some certainly better than others) to address allegations and convictions against active players.
The ATP has no such policy. In fact, the only language that addresses off-court behavior comes from the league's rulebook, which determines "an obligation for ATP players...to refrain from engaging in conduct contrary to the integrity of the game of tennis." This hardly sounds like a "rule," and it doesn't even attempt to define what sort of activity could be considered "contrary to the integrity" of tennis, a sport with deep chivalric roots. Certainly abuse and assault would fit the bill? There was something unsettling about Kyrgios refusing to answer questions about the allegations while abiding by Wimbledon's strict all-white dress code.
Several ATP spokespeople have claimed it "would not be appropriate to comment" until legal proceedings have concluded, which is perhaps advisable. However, these policies are not bound by what plays out in court: earlier this year, the MLB suspended Los Angeles Dodgers pitcher Trevor Bauer for 324 games despite the LA district attorney not pursuing any charges. More recently, the NFL has decided to seek further reprimand beyond what was determined by a Grand Jury against Cleveland Browns quarterback Deshaun Watson, who has been accused by dozens of women of sexual assault and misconduct.
This would all be a lot less messy if Kyrgios wasn't among the most entertaining players to ever pick up a racquet. It's difficult to argue with: just count the number of times commentators let out an "are you kidding me?" or "that's just outrageous" during one of his matches and you'll run out of fingers. But therein lies the problem: the media and spectators are so entranced by his talent and flare that they don't know – or don't care – what he's done off the court.
Of course, this is not a predicament exclusive to athletes: for centuries, writers, artists, and politicians have had the convergence of their public and private lives lead to varying degrees of conflict. In most cases, the amount of "trouble" in which public figures found themselves was dependent on the adoration of their contributions (it also helped a great deal if you were a white guy). As a former literature student, I'm perhaps too aware of the "separate the art from the artist" paradigm. It's a permissible argument for, say, nineteenth century novelists operating within entirely different sociocultural contexts, but not for modern-day figures engaging in violence against women. In the sports world, we've only recently started to confront this dilemma. I don't need to get into the embarrassingly lenient punishments for NFL players guilty of domestic assault, oftentimes with overwhelming physical evidence. There were arguments made not five years ago that essentially amounted to: "he's a professional football player, not a professional boyfriend." It's sad that these one-dimensional talking points resonated with people, but they did and still do. It's very possible that Kyrgios will arrive at the same fortunate fate as so many other supremely talented abusers because he can do cool things with a racquet in his hand.
If you listen long enough, you'll inevitably hear the tennis talking-heads discuss whether Nick Kyrgios is "good for tennis," a question I find arbitrary and unfair to all involved. If the only goals are filling stadium seats and ramping up TV viewership, then maybe so. I even think his unpredictability and first-strike style is refreshing in a sport that has been saturated with baseline grinders. But if these accusations are true, he's not good for tennis or anything or anyone else.
Worse still is the unsettling number of cases against prominent social figures, especially athletes, that seem to magically disappear. If Kyrgios's assault charges are dropped, the ATP retains the ability to take matters into their own hands. They could launch their own investigation and enforce reprimands in whatever way they see fit. They could, but they won't – and isn't that the essence of a Gentleman's Sport?