A MATCH FOR ALL SEASONS

It was the match of the season, the one to see
between six foot McClusky and five foot me.
Let’s face it, the guy was a tower, a walking crane,
liable to fill an opponent with plenty of pain.
He looked at me and spoke, a grin on his face,
“Say there short stuff, can you keep up the pace?”
“My name is Higgins,” I angrily retorted,
“You use my name the way it was reported.”
He just stared and sneered, then gave me his back,
but he’d gone too far, had used the wrong tack.
What I lack in size, I make up in spirit,
I found that his height, I no longer feared it.
I won the toss, I chose to serve,
I was icy calm, with steel-like nerve,
I tossed the ball to the proper height,
And then smashed it down with all my might,
It was a perfect beginning, a perfect ace,
Giving me momentum and a lot of pace.
I double faulted on my very next serve,
and when he snorted, it just added verve.
The next ball in play went on forever,
because his volleys were ever so clever.
But I was here, there, and all over the place.
I rallied, and volleyed, and gave proper chase.
I won that point and the next one too.
I was in form, I was hitting true.
“Forty/fifteen Higgins, cried the voice from on high.
I had clear advantage, it was now do or die.
I aced him again with a serve that curved.
It was my game, I could see he was unnerved.
Close to an hour had gone by, it was mighty hot,
the crowd rallied behind me, it helped a lot.
It was his turn to serve at four games to five.
I could see he was determined to stay alive.
The game was long, it was deuce after deuce,
But the giant was puffing, running out of juice.
I knew I had him, I was as fresh as a daisy,
Just had to play my game and not get lazy.
The fans were in a frenzy, yelling themselves hoarse,
“it’s Higgins, it’s Higgins, it’s Higgins of course.”
He was serving again, it was his ad out,
I knew I could beat him, if I moved him about.
When I had him going from side to side,
I faked him proper and he took a slide.
The first set was mine at six to four,
And the crowd let out a mighty roar.
I put up my hands, it was far from over,
I needed the next one to be in clover.
As we toweled down, sitting side by side,
McClusky grated, “wait we’ll soon be tied.”
The man was a fighter, I have to say,
His legs came back and he began to play.
His serve was true, his shots precise,
He wouldn’t let up, I was in a vise.
I tried my lob, I tried my spin,
I tried my cut, but I could not win.
So there we stood, it was one set apiece.
The sun had become hotter, the heat wouldn’t cease,
But the victory had cost him, I could see him sag.
Again I thought, I had the game in the bag.
I fought like a tiger, I fought like a lion,
My serve was right on, my hits just fine.
I moved him far right, then hit far left,
My hits were strong, my hits were deft.
When he staggered to cover, I drop shot him right,
I could see his game was just going out of sight.
“McClusky,” I yelled, “you long macaroni,
I’m not after all, so full of baloney,
I may be short, and you may be tall,
but who do you think will take a fall?”
His mouth remained open, he could not reply.
Then I lobbed him and the ball soared high.
It landed behind him and spun away,
And that was the end of a perfect day.
Oh sweet honeyed victory, it was six over two,
The end of the match and my finest coup.