Tags
AustralianOpen, chaos, nintendo, noise, pickleball, poem, poetry, sport, sports, Tennis
Preamble: We’ve been watching and enjoying the Australian Open. We both play tennis and enjoy watching good play. I might mention that I also enjoy rock concerts. In general, I have no philosophical problem with mixing genres. It was worth a try to mix rock concert with tennis coverage. For me, it utterly failed. The hype spoils the game for me. I want the loudest voice on the tennis coverage to be the Thwack of a well-hit shot. To contextualize the game of tennis (a game of centimeters) with giant dimensions does not serve it well. And, it certainly doesn’t serve me well. I want to skip over all that part and get to the tennis.
It’s a Hoopla, and Koopla, and WOWness and Feel!
A Laser of Rainbows and Medleys of Steel!
Australian regalia and Wimbledon shouts
It’s jeering and cheering and drunken old louts!
It’s Fireworks a Poppin’ and the Gonging of Gongs!
It’s screaming the dreaming and shouting of songs!
It’s Christmas and New Year and Eastertime crosses!
We’ve Icons and Symbols and Cherrypicked Glosses!
Each Shot is aMAZing and Dazing and Crazily Fine!
Each Sigh is a Feast that’s complete with red Wine!
The voices grow louder and that’s how we know!
We’re watching the Best of the Best Picture Show!
Though…
I do recall more measured ways to speak.
Announcers gave analyses and spoke
Like normal human beings; they did not shriek.
They did not sound as though they’d surely choke.
Or drown in all that hype and ooze and swill.
They got excited when a shot was great.
As folks will do for plays that truly thrill.
But not like furry apes about to mate.
They say it’s all about the clicks and gate.
So everyone must bow to flash and bang.
When everything’s a jarring lure to bait,
I long for times without explosive clang.
I find the athletes and their stellar play
Enjoyable enough without the hype.
My dog cannot abide; will not stay.
I think perhaps, the time is finally ripe
For entertainment of a gentler sort.
The stats are fine; insightful words are wise.
My soul would see the beauty of the court.
My mind would find, define my own surprise.
petersironwood 
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