Nick Kyrgios at play is like a race car taking a corner too fast, too often. Skill is essential, scrapes are imminent, sparks are inevitable. He's a hand-eye hero with a low attention span and a degree in provocation. He's impish, sly, aggravating, entertaining, immature, gifted. Tick whatever box or add your own. He doesn't give a damn either way, he's in the fourth round of Wimbledon and feeling just fine.

Kyrgios fills courts but can be empty of respect. He wears chains and is shackled by his own wastefulness. He possibly thinks silence is overrated and umpires exist to be protested to. If he went to confession he'd exhaust a priest with his list of perceived injustices.