Afternoon, everyone. I imagine all of you are still recovering from the compelling U.S. Open final we saw last night. Speaking personally, I haven't seen many four-set Grand Slam matches that were as riveting as that clash. I found it almost impossible to watch, and when I didn't find myself wishing it were over, I was hoping it would just go on. . . and on.
It was an oddly draining match; I can only imagine what it must have been like for someone with a greater vested emotional interest in either man. If I weren't protected by the cocoon of indifference in which most journalists exist (which is not to say I'm not prejudiced, but that's a topic for another time), I don't think I would have been able to stand it. Anyway, conforming to a long-established TennisWorld tradition, here is the latest creation -- and it's a bit different from the commemorative poems of past Grand Slams -- of our poet laureate, Madame Highpockets.
Enjoy. I will be back with a tribute post (of sorts) about Novak Djokovic tomorrow.
-- Pete
FIFTY WAYS TO TAKE OUT NOVAK
(sung to the tune of “Fifty Ways to Leave Your Lover” by Paul Simon)
By Cilla Reid (aka HIghpockets)
The Djoker is still inside your head
I said to me
I’ll need to find answers
To this Serb monstrosity
He beat me five times
And he sure knows how to yack
There must be fifty ways to take out Novak
I’ll hit some moonballs
That bounce way above his head
I’ll lefty spin him
Til he wishes he were dead
I’ll stare him down
And I might even talk some smack
There must be fifty ways to take out Novak
Or I’ll buy me a gun, son
Poison his food, dude
Hit him with a brick, Nick
He’s better than me
Stick him on spike, Mike
No, I don’t need a psych, Ike
Arrange a close shave, Dave
And then I’ll say “Si”
I tried to move inside the court
To hit my shots
But he just pushed me back
Til I was seeing spots
Those serve returns of his
Were missiles at my feet
There just aren’t many ways to take out Novak
I guess I’ll go on back to Spain
And take on France
I’ll get my mojo back
And then I’ll learn to dance
His streak will end one day
And he’ll be crowned a king
And I’ll find fifty things to do with Novak
Or I’ll buy me a gun, son
Poison his food, dude
Hit him with a brick, Nick
He’s better than me
Stick him on spike, Mike
No, I don’t need a psych, Ike
Arrange a close shave, Dave
And then I’ll say “Si”