The Breaking Point

Despicable Humans and the People Who Adore Them

1

Among the current crop of professional tennis players who are profiled in the recent Netflix series "Break Point" is Nick Kyrigos, an Australian who is best known for being a shameless lout. During his time on the pro circuit, he has displayed the full repertoire of the tennis brat: cursing at officials, throwing tantrums and rackets, and spitting at spectators. For good measure, there was even an allegation that he assaulted his ex-girlfriend. In the time-honored tradition of narcissists everywhere, he is utterly incapable of accepting responsibility for his miserable behavior, consistently and predictably placing the blame on the way other people treat him. He is a perfectly reasonable dude, according to him, and would act accordingly if only the rest of humanity would get the hell out of his way.

The documentary series included interviews with members of his family, who defended him up and down the line. This explains a lot, of course. A sister, with actual tears in her eyes, said that people just didn't appreciate the way Nick had struggled. Struggled? For a moment, viewers could have gotten the impression that they were watching a documentary about a coal miner with a wife and nine children, living in a shack without heat or running water, slowly dying of lung disease, and hopelessly in debt to the company store. But no, it's much worse than that: Nick plays tennis. He has to read and hear things that people say about him in news reports and on social media. Some of these things are not flattering. How much can someone take before snapping? Who wouldn't be abusive and ill-mannered?

Uh, well, how about nearly every other professional tennis player? Or perhaps there's another explanation: by "struggles", perhaps his sister was referring to the depression that her brother has reportedly suffered. If so, there was no attempt to establish a correlation between depression and behaving like a sociopath, let alone any justification for believing that every umpire, line judge, sportscaster, player and fan has been put on this Earth just to torment him. A diagnosis of severe paranoia might have offered a line of defense, but was not presented. Needless to say, the suggestion that depression is in any way a rationale for treating others as less than human is deeply insulting to the countless millions who are likewise afflicted. Is it really better to hide behind the scourge of mental illness than just admit that you're a miserable bastard? If you're a reprobate who has habitually blamed others for your own mistakes, then perhaps this is your best option.

What is most troubling about the Kyrigos persona is that many fans actually like him despite it. No, that cannot be right: from the reaction of the crowd at some of his big matches, it would appear that at least some of his supporters like him because of his despicable demeanor. They seem to enjoy watching someone thumb his nose at "authority", break with tradition, grind decorum into the dust, and force a stadium full of spectators to hew to his infantile will. Some fans no doubt justify their applause by noting simply that he is a very talented player and therefore enjoyable to watch, even if they don't approve of his outbursts and bullying. But this does not begin to explain why, when there is an equally talented wunderkind on the opposite side of the court, they choose to root for the uncivilized brute.

This attraction for the ill-mannered competitor is not unique to Kyrigos, of course. The chronicle of tennis over the last half century is replete with bad boys with bad tempers who were nonetheless alluring to fans. John McEnroe, the poster child of rudeness who is now past middle age, appeared on television a few months ago in a doubles pickleball match with several other retired American champions (Andy Roddick, Andre Agassi and Michael Chang, so you don't have to look it up). McEnroe, who in recent years has, somewhat improbably, become an eminence grise as a tennis commentator on TV, reverted to form in the pickleball match by acting like the hectoring, complaining, unruly teenager he used to be. In other words, he pretended to be the immature jerk he was in his playing prime. For sheer entertainment, he turned his infamous temperament into shtick. He seems to understand implicitly that his unpleasantness is as much a part of his celebrity as his playing accomplishments. And the crowd in the arena seemed to love it, proving that boorishness and charmlessness are, in some quarters, not merely qualities one may have to tolerate in those with uncommon talent, but valued commodities.

2

It would be of little consequence if unpleasant narcissists were confined to the world of sports. Unfortunately, the wider world is rife with small minded, self-serving types: abusive parents and spouses, imperious professors, belligerent bosses, fishy financiers, slimy lawyers, shady sales reps, pugnacious police, cold-blooded commanders, and despotic politicians. Regrettably, many humans are susceptible to the lies and manipulations of people who promise to break things. To appreciate the benefits of humility, decency and diplomacy, one must possess more patience and circumspection than some people can muster. The raised fist has a visceral appeal and immediate impact with which the quiet handshake cannot compete, even when that fist is aimed at someone's face. Mankind suffers immeasurably from a bottomless supply of petty tyrants and psychopaths, who are only too happy to sacrifice others on the altar of their own self-worship.

For every sport star who makes it to the big time — not to mention every wannabe rock star, movie star, social media star, or whatever kind of star — there are a thousand wannabe prima donnas who, for lack of talent, relentlessness, killer instinct, or just bad luck, never reach the pinnacle. But what do we suppose happens to these monsters in training when they give up their dreams of fame and favor, and embark instead on careers in business, finance or politics? Do they magically become sweet and accommodating in their newly chosen fields, after their lousy temperaments have been indulged since before they learned to walk? Will they discover a new-found reverence for common decency? It is an immutable rule of modern life that celebrity confers immunity from the tiresome rules that govern the lives of lesser mortals, which is one reason why bullies and misfits are disproportionately represented among the ranks of the famous. Why would anyone bother trying to achieve stardom if not to unshackle oneself from the bonds and obligations of everyday existence?

Can the cycle of narcissism be broken? Perhaps by better parenting, but there is a worldwide shortage of it. Behind every monstrous child is a bad parent. As we speak, there are almost certainly aspiring teenagers on the junior tennis circuit with an inclination to throw their rackets when they hit a bad shot or scream at officials when they get a bad call. (On average, there is one such miscreant in every kindergarten class, too.) But in some cases, at least, there's a responsible parent who will have none of it. Instead of excusing the behavior, like the families of a Kyrigos or McEnroe, they will stop it before it gets out of hand. Instead of waving away the nastiness by saying, "Oh, that's just his way," or worse, encouraging anger and abuse because they think it will motivate their budding monster to be successful, the good parent will pull the tantrum thrower aside and issue a stern warning: "If you ever do that again it will be the last match you ever play."

The argument that only nasty bastards succeed ("Nice guys finish last") is simply and demonstrably false. The history of tennis (and every other field of endeavor) offers numerous counter examples: Laver and Ashe, Sampras and Agassi, Federer and Nadal. Perfect gentlemen with remarkable careers. Being a tough competitor doesn't mean you have to be a son of a bitch. Competition is the natural order of humankind, and a desire to win has not yet been bred out of us. But if we don't abide by our own rules, then civilization has no purpose. No one needs sharp elbows and a sharp tongue to hit a tennis ball. It's only a short decline from there to sharp knives (remember Monica Seles? Nancy Kerrigan?). And once we fall into that abyss, we're playing for an entirely different kind of trophy.