The Line Call
The ball leaves the racquet like a bullet from a gun
The receiver assesses that the ball is going wide
He stands his ground; there’s no reason to run
He couldn’t if he tried.
Whether it’s a gust of wind, or intervention from The Lord
But the ball now appears to be going in
His previous decision not to run is looking flawed
He’ll have to take it on the chin.
He ponders whether to swallow his pride
And just go for it, to start to advance
He might get it, but something inside tells him
He hasn’t got a chance.
As time almost stands still he watches the ball
As it clips the line…not by much but just enough
Which puts the score on a hard to accept fifteen-all
Instead of a satisfying thirty-love.
But as he intently studies where the ball has been
The line appears to curve inwards, giving him no doubt
That between the ball and the line he saw some green
So he confidently calls it “OUT!”
The opposition are amazed…how could he make such a call?
But he puts it down to just good luck
No appeal will make him change his mind at all
Basically…he couldn’t give a fuck.