We’re
hearing a lot about characters at this year’s Wimbledon. Perhaps it’s
because the event holds to its gentlemanly traditions and, against the
prim white and greenness of it all, any colour provides the perfect
contrast for any sort character to emerge. Dustin Brown has been
labelled a character since his win over Rafael Nadal
last week, and it’s confusing to fathom quite what makes him liable to
be lauded as such. Is it because he beat Nadal? Is it because he has
dreadlocks?
Whatever anyone thinks of Nick Kyrgios and his behaviour at SW19
this year, there’s no doubt that he has made everyone watch and,
because of his antics, he will head the character list for the
fortnight. He has gone now, leaving us with the image of his final
strop, marching off down the corridors seething after losing to Richard Gasquet.
Crowds flocked to watch the volatile Australian so they could see in
what manner he would throw his dummy out of his pram, and during the
buildup to Monday’s match, media channels had been awash with analysis
as to whether his demeanour is good, bad or ugly for the sport. It is an
even more delicious scenario that Kyrgios unleashed his waspish verbal
attacks on line judges, racket-bashing and narky press conferences for
the world’s politest tennis tournament.
His distinct instability and ability on court, his flighty style,
tendency to fly off the handle and talk to himself have stirred public
curiosity. We love it when tennis players sulk. And Kyrgios definitely
sulks, as was in evidence early on in Monday’s second set when he took
umbrage at an umpiring call and then stopped trying for the rest of the
game. His brand of petulance seems at times unbelievably contrived, and
was in this case an insult to the paying audience, who began to boo.
Kyrgios,
like John McEnroe, may prove to be a welcome contrast, if he becomes
very good. If history is anything to go by, though, Kyrgios might need
to sort himself out. Down the years the composed, cool players win at
tennis and Roger Federer is the latest in a long line of collected
tennis champions. Following Bjorn Borg came Stefan Edberg, Pete Sampras
and then Federer, all with strikingly similar dispositions on court.
Presumably they weren’t the “characters” we admire today, but in my
book, heroes such as these play sport the best way. They didn’t go
around shouting, fist-pumping and making people laugh, but they prove
that nice guys win.
In my own squash career I’ve been told otherwise plenty of times. I will always be grateful for role models such as these, and
together with a disciplined upbringing courtesy of my coach and father,
Malcolm, I found a calm on the squash court. I was taught not to
disrespect referees and throw my racket about. If I behaved badly as a
child I soon knew about it.
I’m grateful now because it carried through into my senior career,
and this composure must have won me big games. Perhaps it seems a bit
old-fashioned nowadays to some, but there it is.
When an athlete is undemonstrative, they often come in for criticism.
One of the worst words used is “passion” – if you don’t scream and
shout and show outward signs then you apparently lack it. Kyrgios or
McEnroe would have more passion than Federer on that basis. But to
conclude that Federer could ever lack passion after winning seven
Wimbledons and devoting his life to the sport is surely preposterous.
People seem to get muddled about how an athlete’s outward respect and
good demeanour on a sporting field relates to his aggression in
competition. Nice and aggressive can go together.
It’s different depending on the sport. There seem to be few exponents
of men’s football who show respect and inward channelling of emotions
because this is simply not how the game is played. Imagine a player who
stayed detached and who didn’t react brusquely to refereeing decisions –
they would be vilified by coaches and supporters for evincing a lack of
enthusiasm or hunger.
Cricket is beset by sledging, which seems to be under reasonable
control, but Michael Holding just the other day implied, and I
paraphrase, that some of the England batsmen won’t worry the Aussie
bowlers in the Ashes because they aren’t “in their faces” with outward
confidence. In the end, outward aggression in whatever form can be
vacuous and useless. It doesn’t really translate any worthy message to
anyone, least of all the athlete himself. If it comes naturally to an
athlete to show feeling then good; it can really add to the spectacle in
sport, but we don’t need to see passion for the sake of it.
Tim Henman was a quiet tennis player who did not need to put on big
demonstrations while playing. He was criticised for a lack of fire.
Pointless criticisms they were, though, because aggression can quite
easily come from within, as Federer, Sampras, Borg and Peter Nicol, one
of the squash greats, have frequently shown. You don’t get to the
semi-finals of Wimbledon four times, as Henman did, without some fire in the belly.
All sports benefit from personalities who show emotion, excitement
and sometimes impetuosity but for every McEnroe there’s a Borg, for
every James Hunt a Niki Lauda. And the quiet ones are passionate too.