A Tsonga ’bout Murray

 http://news.bbc.co.uk/sport1/hi/tennis/7184683.stm

Oh, woe, oh woe, a poem upon a blog,

And worst of all on Great Saundini’s Bog,

But worry not my friends, it shan’t last long

At least the rhyming won’t be very strong.

The gods, have looked unfavourably once more

And thus, the cause of my latest uproar:

In the land of Dingos, a penny’s dropped,

Andy Murray our British Braveheart’s lost.

And more than that, there’s even worse to come,

Second scot Baker to defeat has succumbed.

It all started out so well in Doha

Where Murray had been the King of Qatar

Leaping into the World’s Top Ten,

A place we hope he shall reach again.

The muses had blessed him with tennis art

Geometrically gifted and sharp as a dart

He beat Swiss Wawrinka in three tight sets,

Stan shook Andy’s hand and he was a threat,

And tennis-circles began a-hoping

That Murray would get a bigger trophy.

Unknown to many that are English born,

Andy Murray swiftly flew to Melbourne.

And upon seeing against whom he drew

He saw it was Tsonga, Jo Wilfred who

Had gave our Tiger Tim his last defeat,

Now he aimed swarthily to our Scot unseat.

Beyond tricky Tsonga, pastures were green,

A pretty easy draw ’til Round of 16

When playing French Richard Gasquet or less,

Inconstant, but dangerous nonetheless.

But Tsonga, prowled like a leopard before

Our hero could enter the better draw.

Expecting to win, Murray had enough,

Finesse, fitness, tactics, mentally tough.

Jo-Wilfred though was a powerful beast,

Was too erratic in his play to feast,

On the Grand Slam hopes of Andy Murray,

But of this assumption, he didn’t worry.

Murray and Tsonga entered Rod Laver arena,

Where Fed had last triumphed as had Serena,

And from the first serve the Tsonga man roared

Blasting Murray to the back of the court

Tsonga in front of his baseline prowling

Murray scampering in frustration scowling.

Murray’s mistakes and Tsonga’s skill stronger

Made 7-5, 6-4 the first sets Tsonga.

Before like Achilles, Tsonga’s own thigh

Strained him and his strong form began to dive

Then Murray’s own magic clicked into gear

And now it was Tsonga who scowled ear to ear,

One game, the second, followed by the third

Then Tsonga bagelled, a turn-around absurd

Was on the cards, when Tsonga broke ahead:

In the hard-fought fourth, 4-5 Tsonga lead

But the gods delayed the inevitable

Tsonga saw fear and it was 5 games all.

Then came the tie-break and Tsonga’s thigh

Tired once more and Andy began to fly,

Some poetical tennis as surely complete

As this poem itself! Tsonga fought off defeat

But Murray threw up a second feted serve

Smashed into the net and could only observe

As Tsonga held on, his heavy left arm

Pounding the ball crosscourt and then he’d won.

Murray had lost in just over three hours

And will return home with tongue that is sour.

Baker too fought, but was hammered back still,

By Karlovic on the first day as well

At least within Britain we feel no shame,

We know no Melbourne, only Murray’s name.

For us his yearly test is still to come,

For we know of only our Wimbledon.

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