Here I am again sitting high in this chair
Looking down on these two white clad ladies.
Oh no! One of them is the screamer,
That Sharapova woman.
Why does she do it,
Is she in such pain.
Here we go then.
Thwack! Fault!
Thwack! Thwack – scream! Thwack!
“Fifteen love” I announce.
Why fifteen, surely it should be one!
Thwack!
Here we go again. Why do I do it?
I sit in this chair, as I have done for years.
Watching the ball go from side to side,
Thwack – scream!
It normally goes in, but sometimes it’s wide
And then it can be fun
If they disagree with the call.
Thwack!
I remember back to the time
When “You cannot be serious!”
Was shouted by that curly haired youngster.
Thwack – scream!
“Fifteen all”.
A man of great talent but a big mouth.
“Thwack!
Thwack – scream!
I am sure that scream is getting louder,
And others do it now.
The Williams amazon does it,
But only when she is in trouble.
Thwack!
“Thirty, fifteen”
Wonderful player is Serena,
But she frightens me.
So powerful, so unforgiving,
But after the match all is sweetness and light.
Thwack! Thwack – scream! Thwack!
“Forty, fifteen”
I must stop doing this soon,
The matches are no longer elegant
As the used to be,
Back in the days of Maria Bueno and her like.
Thwack!
And I am starting to go back into the past,
I’ve being doing this for too long now,
And my mind wanders.
“Game, Miss Navratilova!”