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.

◄ the tennis boys picnic

Martin's Knee ►


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