FYI.

This story is over 5 years old.

Sports

Nick Kyrgios Demolishes Three Rackets In a Row In Fit Of Rage at Cincinnati Masters

Somewhere in the world, right now, there are three kids playing tennis against a wall with their bare hands. They could do with those fucking rackets, Nick.

Somewhere in the world, right at this moment, there are three kids who really wish they had tennis rackets. Each of them possesses a mangy old tennis ball, yellow fluff fraying at the edges, which they are hitting listlessly against a wall, wishing that their parents would buy them a Dunlop Nitro so they could look cool in front of the sporty clique at school. Those three kids would do anything for tennis rackets. They would literally trade their useless parents for a shiny new Slazenger, or allow their nans to be turned into glue in exchange for a high-performance fibreglass Babolat. Those kids long for tennis rackets, yearn for tennis rackets, see tennis rackets in their dreams each and every night. Tennis racket haunt their sleeping hours, leaving them shaken and pallid in the daytime, ghosts of their former selves.

Advertisement

There are three kids who, somewhere in the world, right now, are absolutely desperate for a trio of tennis rackets. That's what makes this clip of Nick Kyrgios demolishing three tennis rackets, one after the other, so utterly devastating. Why have you done this, Nick? Why have you destroyed three perfectly good tennis rackets? Seriously, why?

We realise that, prior to smashing the rackets, Kyrgios had lost the first set of his match against Borna Coric at the Cincinnati Masters. That must have been very frustrating, but that doesn't mean the tennis rackets were to blame. Tennis rackets are fundamentally innocent, mere implements of our will, inanimate extensions of our human arms. Breaking a tennis racket never solves anything. To get better at tennis, we must break through the boundaries of the psyche. We must also work on our service game, improve our backhand and not, under any circumstances, smash the shite out of the single implement which allows us to return serve.

Out there, somewhere, there are three incredibly melancholy children, wishing that they owned tennis rackets so they could master the finer points of the gentleman's game. They are currently trying to return volleys with their faces, and serve with their forearms. They could do with those fucking tennis rackets right now, Nick.