Our Poet Laureate Speaks
Afternoon, everyone. This was supposed to be a day off for me, but Madame Highpockets, TW's poet laureate (are we ready desigate her PLFL, or Poet Laureate For Life yet?), has been inspired to write another commemorative poem. Remind me if I ever get elected President of the United States to have her write a special poem and read it at my inauguration - maybe something about the melting pot that is Arthur Ashe stadium, and how it either needs a roof or (my preference among real-world options), a revised Super Saturday. Raise your hand if you'd like to see a Monday night US Open final, as a lead-in to the NFL Monday Night Football game. Anyway, without further ado, here;s the newest gem from Highpockets, aka Cilla Reid. I'm off tomorrow as well, but will pop in to say hey-doo in the morning.
If you're looking to gab - and there certainly is much left to talk about - feel free to make this a Crisis Center thread tonight, after anyone who wants to comment on 'Pockets poem has had his or her say. . .
On a DecoTurf court in a fabulous city,
Where life is a mixture of flashy and gritty,
A young man from Spain beat a Serbian lad
In a battle where both gave it all that they had.
The trophy is Rafa’s and it’s well deserved.
His game was inspired, and oh, how he served!
Nadal was relentless, like waves in a storm,
But Novak kept coming and would not conform.
In his semi with Roger, Novak made us all proud,
With his heart on his sleeve, he won back the crowd.
He stood on that baseline and dictated play,
But Rafa refused to be beaten today.
My first glimpse of Nadal was in France at their Slam,
And I watched him, mouth open, saying, “Hot Damn!”
His slides were amazing; his speed was a wonder,
His footwork impressive; his ground strokes like thunder.
When he lifted that trophy in Paris and smiled,
My heart it just melted and I was beguiled
By his charm and his spunk and his guns and his gets,
He lit up the place; he was hard to forget.
Then he captured more titles on hard, clay and grass,
And he challenged the best with his game and his class.
He brought us the bolo; he redefined spin;
And his volleys improved to the skeptics’ chagrin.
Now he sleeps in the best of the finest hotels,
But he'll never play poker—he has too many tells.
He picks at his shorts, he tugs at his locks,
He lines up his bottles and ignores all the clocks.
In tennis we’ve witnessed something so rare
In Roger and Rafa and the grand slams they share.
We wonder if there will be more to their story,
But for now, let’s just sit back and bask in their glory.
Let’s celebrate Rafa, who brought us his best.
He’s a jewel of a person and we are all blessed
With his courage and candor and beautiful smile,
We all hope that he will stay with us awhile.