Tried by the Centre Court
Michael Flanders
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(poc)
(poc)
(poc) Wimbledon,
(poc) June,
(poc) Ladies' singles,
(poc) Third round. (poc)
Ball boys are bounding all over the ground.
Play started at two and we're still on the rack;
It's a quarter to five and they've hardly begun.
A perfect defence (poc)
Meets a perfect attack. (poc)
Miss L Hammerfest (poc)
Meets Miss J Hunter-Dunn. (poc)
Game to Miss Hunter-Dunn.
Miss Hammerfest leads by two games to one in the third set,
Having won the first by eighteen games to sixteen,
Lost the second, twenty-five - twenty-seven.
I never liked tennis.
Damn silly name for the game, with its volleys and loves and all that.
The first time I umpired was June '36.
I didn't think much of it then,
I just rather fancied myself in the hat;
Since when, I have umpired again (poc)
and again (poc)
and again (poc).
And year after year, as I sat
On court after court,
I've been struck by the thought:
They are bashing a ball with the gut of a cat. What a sport.
You may think it's tedious seen from down there, it's ludicrous seen from above.
(poc) Fifteen - love!
Keeping my eye firmly fixed on the ball,
Hoping the linesmen will know what to call.
Fifteen all!
As each long drawn out point puts my neck out of joint
What a job! Set after set -
Oh, the relief when you get the occasional lob.
(poc) Ahh...
Till they smash it.
(poc) Oo-ch!
Thirty - fifteen!
What does it all mean?
(poc) Forty - fifteen!
Why thirty-fifteen, why forty-fifteen?
What if I just said one-nothing, two-nothing, three-nothing, and game?
Do just the same.
Some of the older debenture holders
Be bound to get shirty.
Forty - thirty! (poc)
Now the spectators are trickling out.
There's thunder about, with luck it'll rain.
That ought to reduce - (poc)
Deuce!
Half of me bored...
(poc) (poc) (thprrrrrr) Net cord!
The other half nervous - First service!
Wish it were dinner.
(poc) Thank God, a winner.
Advantage Miss Hammerfest!
(poc) Bonk,
(poc) bink,
(poc) bonk,
... (poc) bink,
drives you to drink.
Sitting up here, I'm obsessed with the fear of getting it wrong.
Everyone else'll be going bonk - bink,
I shall be going bink - bonk.
Oh, do get it over with!
What is the use?
(poc) oh, we're back again.
Deuce!
Wimbledon, June, ladies' singles, third round,
Groundsmen are asked, "how's the state of the ground?"
Players are photographed jumping the nets.
Here sits a figure one always forgets:
The Umpire, (poc)
upon whom (poc)
the sun (poc)
never sets. (poc)