When Bernard Tomic, grappling for an elusive sense of purpose in whatever remains of his professional life, slunk out of Wimbledon on day two and later admitted his love of tennis is being drowned by pernicious feelings of ennui, the mind went back to the first time he saw Novak Djokovic standing on the opposite side of the net.

The memories of that sun-kissed Centre Court afternoon in 2011 should induce fond nostalgia. At best, however, they are no more than bittersweet and are mostly tinged with the kind of regret that can only be caused by the spectacle of watching a precocious talent drift away once he hits adulthood.

Tomic, aged 18, was the youngest player to reach the Wimbledon quarter-finals since Boris Becker in 1986. He was described as a “teenage sensation” and “Australia’s latest sporting prodigy” and with good reason bearing in mind how brilliantly he performed. Djokovic, the eventual champion and largely unbeatable that year, was relieved to emerge with a 6-2, 3-6, 6-3, 7-5 win, but Tomic had offered enough evidence to suggest he was going to be challenging the best on a regular basis.

Six years on you could count the beads of sweat that fall from Tomic’s head as he lost meekly in the first round to Mischa Zverev, a player he beat handily in Eastbourne a week ago, and then the tennis world gasps when the Australian tells the press conference he “felt a little bit bored”. Not for nothing has he earned the nickname “Tomic the Tank Engine”.

On a day littered with early retirements, perhaps it was a surprise Tomic even saw it out to the bitter end before collecting his £35,000 appearance fee, a portion of which might yet be docked if Wimbledon officials take a dim view of his meagre exertions. Of course there was no merit in Tomic’s performance. He stank the place out, losing to the 27th seed in 84 minutes.

The reaction to his display and his comments was predictable. Perspective went out of the window on social media, with one person tweeting Tomic should be deported.

More relevant was the response from the former players who lined up to offer caustic opinions on Tomic’s behaviour, understandably accusing him of disrespecting the sport and its fans. People pay to attend Wimbledon. Other players pour their heart and soul into making it into the main draw – and many fall short, agonisingly missing out on a lucrative payday that could make their year. In that context, Tomic’s conduct must feel like a slap in the face. Why should we, the people who watch him, and talk about him, and want to cheer for him, and would give anything to walk in his shoes just for one day, care when Tomic so clearly couldn’t give two hoots?

It was no surprise sympathy did not flow his way, just as few people were willing to offer Nick Kyrgios a shoulder to cry on when Tomic’s fellow Australian retired injured after losing the first two sets of his first-round match against Pierre-Hugues Herbert.

Kyrgios, two years younger than Tomic, has also fallen foul of moral arbiters who disapprove of the on-court brashness that heightens the impression of an ungrateful, overly entitled brat who has no appreciation of how fortunate he is to be extraordinarily good at hitting a ball over a net. He reached a nadir when he appeared to give up during a match in Shanghai last October – coincidentally against Zverev – and received a three-month ban from the ATP.

Yet there is an argument we are reaching the stage when the rush to pile in on Kyrgios and Tomic after every misdemeanour feels cruel and unproductive. We do not have to sympathise with their plight – clearly there are many people who are worse off – but let’s not misplace our humanity. We can make an attempt to listen and understand when they speak. We can try to locate our empathy when these young people reveal their vulnerability in public and try not to push them away, to make them feel as if the world is against them by chastising and lecturing.

Tomic, the son of a Croatian father and a Bosnian mother, is at an age when most of us are still trying to work out what to do with our lives, whether professionally or personally. It is not his fault he had a racket placed into his hands when he was a child or that it turned out he possessed enough skill to become a professional. In the end his obligation is to himself, not us or Australia.

The 24-year-old, who has had an uneasy relationship with his father, has been touring since he was a child. Tennis is the grind that never stops. He is not the first to discover hard work doesn’t appeal.

It is not a crime but it will always rankle when it transpires a professional athlete can’t be bothered to make the most of his extravagant gifts.

Tomic could be like Andy Murray and run down every lost cause. He would have our respect. Would he have happiness?

Tomic could decide to quit. He could still carve out a living for himself as a disappointing prospect floating around the top 100, enjoying the odd run here and there without ever threatening to trouble the top players. Or he could try harder than he ever has. He could sweat and slog and strive to become the best. He could train like a demon every day.

He could be like Andy Murray, who won two grand slams and Olympic gold with a back that needed surgery, and run down every lost cause. It still may not be enough for him to achieve sporting immortality. He would have our respect. Australian legends would approve. Would he have happiness?

The Big Four still tower over the rest of the sport. Tomic has been as high as No17 in the world but the standards are so high only Stan Wawrinka has managed to challenge the hegemony established by Djokovic, Murray, Roger Federer and Rafael Nadal. Marin Cilic and Juan Martín del Potro have two grand slam titles between them. Kei Nishikori, Tomas Berdych, Grigor Dimitrov and Jo-Wilfried Tsonga continue to toil without reward, always kept at arm’s length by the kings of the sport. Their ability to maintain motivation is worthy of acclaim but Tomic can be forgiven for losing heart after looking at the level of commitment required and concluding that this isn’t for him.

If Betty Draper is to be believed, only boring people get bored but Tomic’s sorry departure from the 131st Wimbledon was anything but dull. His search for meaning is a tale that fascinates the public and appals old pros in equal measure and it is his misfortune it will be played out in full view until he is no longer relevant.