US Open – Nick Kyrgios’ young career already at a crossroads

There was a time, in the middle of this summer, when Nick Kyrgios was poised to put his vibrant hip-hop stamp on men’s pro tennis.

At Wimbledon, during the All England Club’s first scorching week, talent and luck seemed to align themselves for the tall, 20-year-old Aussie, he of the tinted Mohawk and the lashing serve and the cocksure strut.

Wimbledon was where Kyrgios had announced himself to the world the year before, with his stunning Centre Court upset against Rafael Nadal. True, there’d been tough times since: injuries and bad losses and insouciant jabs at the game that was endowing him with a multimillion-dollar living. “I don’t really like the sport of tennis that much,” he said. “I don’t love it.”

But there was also this year’s Australian Open, where he made it to a second Grand Slam quarterfinal, and there was a second-round victory in Madrid against Roger Federer on dusty clay, along with enough steady unspooling of talent and audacity to mark Kyrgios as a candidate to become the next tennis superstar.

Once a promising basketball player, Kyrgios embodies change that could be good for tennis. Despite the overwhelming success of Venus and Serena, tennis remains largely homogenous, and not just racially. Its overall tone is subdued and muted, restrained and reverent. Too often those attributes make it flat-out dull.

The difference between being lively and edgy, and becoming boorish to the point of vulgarity, is a clear and conspicuous distinction that Kyrgios is beginning to have trouble with. And at Wimbledon, having risen in a year from No. 144 in the world rankings to No. 29, the magnetic complexity he brings was on full display.

He padded the grounds with his collar up, his emotions wide to the world, pink headphones clinging to his ears. His brown skin set him apart, and he conducted himself with a me-against-the-world brashness that matched the attitude of the African-American NBA players and rap artists he admires. Straight outta Compton? No. Straight outta Canberra.

It was instructive to watch him on Wimbledon’s practice courts, where he goofed off on hallowed ground — shouting, trying ridiculously chancy shots, then growing suddenly serious as he hit screaming serves and forehands. It was exactly how he behaved during matches. His irreverent, loose-limbed style drew electrified, standing-room…