When Nick Kyrgios crashed out of the Miami Open in the fourth round overnight, strapping holding his right knee together but his emotions less secure, he left his familiar impression, the magician/villain du jour of tennis. There surely will not be a better tweener this year than the one he put on Borna Coric before losing in three sets. But that is Kyrgios: unfathomable in every way.

The mercurial Australian might not be aware of it, but Suzanne Lenglen, a rebel in silk skirts and garters (but no corset), shares a bond with him that stretches across a hundred years of their sport – although she did not strop as often, by all accounts.

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Like the Parisian legend they called La Divine – who lit up tennis either side of the Great War and won 241 titles, 31 in championships, and 181 matches in a row – he is an irreverent innovator who sees things others do not, and who plays without the fear of consequence.

In common with Kyrgios (who is some way short of Lenglen’s records), she cared little about upsetting people. She was passionate, prone to collapsing in tears and challenged authority when she felt it was warranted. On court, she had touch and vision where others honoured convention and, despite her slight build and the lifelong burden of asthma, she had more easy power than any of her rivals. And, but for her willingness to be different, women would have taken a lot longer switching to serving overarm.

When Lenglen won the first of her six Wimbledon titles in 1919, she used her rare overarm serve and exuberant ground strokes to reach the final, where she met the refined skills (and underarm serve) of the seven-times champion, Dorothea Lambert Chambers. Lenglen prevailed in style. Wimbledon had seen nothing like it, as a delightful piece from the Tennis Hall of Fame chronicles. There were plenty of stuffed shirts at the All England Club but they recognised her extraordinary popularity in a concrete way – literally. As Billie Jean King said of one of the first international sporting superstars of the 20th century, “The reason we play at Wimbledon is because of her. They built Centre Court because they were selling too many tickets at the old place and they had to move. They moved in 1922.”

Just as serving overarm 100 years ago was outside-the-box thinking for inside the box, reverting to underarm from the service line hurled Kyrgios back into the spotlight this week. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but it seems it is for some.

None was more surprised – or less impressed – in Miami than Dusan Lajovic, who was embarrassed twice in the same game by Kyrgios’s underarmers on the way to losing in less than an hour in the third round. (There were none in his loss to Coric in three sets on Tuesday, but plenty of racket-smashing from both.)

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Suzanne Lenglen helped revolutionise tennis when she won her first Wimbledon title in 1919 with an overarm serve and exuberant ground strokes. Photograph: George Rinhart/Corbis via Getty Images

Even Mike Phelan, the Manchester United assistant manager, was moved to observe of Kyrgios’s challenging of the orthodox: “Risk, arrogance and audacity or creativity, genius and the hallmark of a winner?”

Phelan was undecided. As are many inside and outside tennis. “This clown may be good for circus, but I am sure he’s not good for tennis,” said one agitated Novak Djokovic fan of the player who has beaten her hero on the two occasions they have met.

Judy Murray is in no doubt. She tweeted: “The whole point of tennis competition is to disrupt [your] opponent’s game by applying pressure through changing the speed, spin, direction, depth or height of the ball. And that includes the serve. Kyrgios is a genius. I’m surprised more players don’t do it.”

Tennis Channel (@TennisChannel) OMG 😂@NickKyrgios hits em with the underhand serve on set point #MiamiOpen pic.twitter.com/yPRA0H4GwD

So, why don’t they? Elite athletes are prisoners of repetition. They put so much effort into their repetitive drills, they are scared to experiment. They find a method and stick with it, be they golfers, cricketers or tennis players.

Those who can adapt, however, often profit. Roger Federer reinvigorated his serve-and-volley game in his 30s as his legs slowed, then experimented with charging his opponent’s second serve, and has gone on to win 20 majors, with maybe more to come. Rafael Nadal (17 slams) gambled on ratcheting up his serve and cutting down space across the baseline to win the US Open in 2010, and has constantly tinkered with his game. As has Djokovic (15), whose elbow injury forced him to change his service action. Andy Murray (3), cut down by years of hip pain, will think hard about adapting his movement when he returns, possibly at Wimbledon, more likely at Flushing Meadows.

They all have a hero in Lenglen. It is difficult to imagine the daring and determination it took for her to challenge convention at a time when women did not even have the vote. She reached the French Open final when she was 14, at the outbreak of war, and returned after the conflict to rule tennis until 1926, before she contracted leukaemia, went blind and died in 1938.

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Hers is a story that inspired thousands. It took a while, but tennis honoured her deeds in a lasting way when the French Open renamed their second court after her in 1997, as well as the trophy for the women’s singles title.

Maybe Kyrgios will change the face of tennis, too. He might even have a court named after him in Canberra one day, or at his home championship in Melbourne. Perhaps he’ll fall short and not fulfil his potential. His defeat rated barely a mention. But, like Lenglen, he will keep surprising and annoying everyone with his willingness to be different.