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The Squash Poet ... SQUASH ADDICTION
Another
offering form the forum's favourite ... |
Like an addict on the street,
I can’t stop myself to compete,
To be the best possible squash athlete,
A sport I drink, sleep and eat,
With every single heartbeat,
The rest of my life is obsolete,
The daily kick of squash is so swa-eeet!
Squash Addiction
(Sung to the tune of
“Californication”
by the Red Hot Chili Peppers)
I’ve got nothing to explain
On how I have this bad affliction,
The rest of my pathetic life
I’ve given up to dereliction,
And the only way is I’ve fallen prey,
To a heavy Squash Addiction.
It’s got a lot do to with
The continuous pain infliction,
Run so hard and slow right down,
Is a physical contradiction,
I can’t get enough of this game so tough,
It’s a heavy Squash Addiction.
Pay your squash pro very well
To improve your racquet swinging,
The wrist you flick to hit that nick,
Will keep your rivals stinging,
The dream extreme,
Squash is supreme.
Chorus:
Get high on heavy Squash Addiction,
Get high on heavy Squash Addiction.
In five set games I have no shame,
And get on my knees for benediction,
I don’t really care if the devil’s aware,
And puts me up for crucifixion,
Cause I need to win, even if it’s a sin,
To have a heavy Squash Addiction.
If I’m tough to find, don’t be so blind,
Where I am is an easy prediction,
I’m hitting a thousand balls up and down the walls,
Concentrating with a real conviction,
It’s becoming worse, I can’t reverse,
This heavy Squash Addiction.
Through rain and snow I’ll watch the pros,
There will be no restriction
I need a shrink ‘cause I eat and drink,
Even with an interdiction,
The dream extreme,
Squash is supreme.
Chorus
Everything to me outside the squash world
Is irrelevant and just fiction,
I must confide, I would suicide,
If the clubs gave me eternal eviction,
There’s no way to break, I just can’t shake,
My heavy Squash Addiction.
Practice all your good length shots,
It is the key to winning,
You’ll get the taste
And also embrace,
Your own addiction beginning.
The dream extreme,
Squash is supreme.
Chorus
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The World Open Poem
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The Squash Poet ... Christmas 2007 |
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‘Twas the night after Christmas, and
I’m standing on court,
Eager to try out what Santa had brought.
I sent him a letter of the one thing I request,
Sent it one-hundred times so he wouldn’t forget,
And just to be sure that he knew what it be,
I told him many times more when I sat on his knee,
And I prayed really hard every night for a year,
Sure that this one thing would ignite my career.
So, I’m alone on the ‘T’, not a sound can be heard,
Just moments away to have my wish answered,
I feed myself the ball with a casual fling,
And pull back my racquet and get ready to swing,
I hit the ball hard with all of my might,
But missed with the strings and hit with graphite,
The air went from my lungs as I committed the sin,
And watched the ball crash loudly in the middle of the tin,
I tried it again and again, the result was the same,
How could I possibly keep hitting the frame?
The sound of the tin kept echoing through,
Nothing had changed, I could see that was true!
Through my tears and my moaning, I felt so dismayed,
How could Santa do this, I felt so betrayed!
For the one thing I wished for turned into disaster,
All I wanted was to be made into the squash master!
Was it possible that Santa couldn’t fit it in his sack?
He seemed to have space for my 5-underwear-pack,
But alas, I feared, it was never meant to be,
Asking Santa wasn’t the path to squash glory,
So I’ll enjoy Christmas as it is and hope you all do the same,
And accept that just being nice won’t improve my game,
But there are more ways than one, and I’ll find a way,
And since Christmas won’t work, I’ll wish it for my birthday!
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Since the
players are the stars,
We should recognize them as such,
As they move onto Qatar,
After Shabana wins Saudi in the clutch.
This poem is dedicated to them,
For showing us how to play the game,
Out of the rough they are the gems,
And deserve all the fame!
"The World
of Squash"
(Sung to the tune of “We didn’t
start the fire” by Billy Joel)
Let’s begin with the best, to start this squash-filled fest,
Amr Shabana holds ranking number one.
An Egyptian with a rubber wrist, racquet skills that don’t exist,
The ball is rolling out the nick before you start to run.
The best player out of France, his movement is fluid dance,
Greg Gaultier has skills that just amaze,
David Palmer we all agree, he nails himself to the ‘T’,
The Aussie volleys every ball with his racquet head ablaze.
Chorus:
The world of squash is awesome,
It’s still expanding,
Standard is outstanding,
The world of squash is awesome,
Once you’ve played it,
You’ll never trade it.
Another Frenchie in Lincou, his errors are very few,
No longer number one, and he’s on his way down.
In contrast Ramy Ashour, the young phenom on the tour,
Is blasting top ten players on his way to the crown.
Ricketts has just one speed; it’s run flat out till you bleed,
The first Brit is Willstrop, Beachill continues to drop,
John White smacks the ball, knocks down the front wall,
Nick Matthew never quits, ends up winning the Brit!
Chorus
Egyptians seem everywhere, they all have the skillful flair,
Boswell’s injured back, put a halt to his attack,
Barker, Grant coming up, both of them just young pups,
Olli is the only Finn, he’s balder than a bowling pin!
Whatever happened to Beng Hee? A technique change disagree?
Let’s not forget about Azlan, he’s the best Malaysian,
Special point to an old man, playing since before time began,
Alex Gough attention! You qualify for a pension!
Chorus
Up the ranks come young guns, from every place under the sun,
Fitter, stronger, faster; striving to be master.
From Spanish red to Azzuri blue, Africa to Peru,
A melting pot of nations, an Olympic expectation,
Market up, sponsor cash, its television time to crash,
Gorge yourselves on squash buffets; what else do I have to say?
Chorus
Arab sheikh puts on huge events, more players can now pay their
rent,
Others should get on board, raise the purse for big rewards,
Mainstream in the goal, from the north to South Pole,
Players should have more fame, make them household names.
Associations should work as one, or else nothing gets done,
Self interest push aside, let squash growth be your guide,
Take a friend to the court, it will be his favorite sport,
Promote it like never before – or we won’t have it anymore!
The World of squash is awesome,
But when we’re all gone,
It must still go on, and on, and on, and on…
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If you have a
minute or two,
This poem is quick.
You’ll read it straight through,
Before a White volley nick.
These are thoughts in my head,
When I play a tough game,
The sweat and tears I shed,
Enhance the beauty of the game.
Heat of
Battle
Your heart is racing,
Oxygen deprived,
The black ball you’re chasing,
Hit it to survive!
The sweat is pouring,
Racquet grip so wet,
Try to keep scoring,
Nullify the threat.
Legs get so tired,
The racquet is lead,
By winning I’m inspired,
And keep pushing ahead.
The match is so long,
My opponent is fit,
Will to win is so strong,
I’ll never dare to quit.
Ref makes a bad call,
It’s a critical time,
Head up and stand tall,
Another hurdle to climb.
Negative thoughts,
Creep into my mind,
Recall what I was taught,
Put them all behind.
The end is so near,
I must not lose my head,
Losing is not to be feared,
Love winning instead.
Last point to decide,
To the crowd’s delight,
Winning with such pride,
No glory without the fight. |
Good-day to all
squash lovers out yonder,
I’m the “Squash-Poet” with too much spare time,
Daring to post my verses for all of you to ponder,
Think and say what you will about my rhymes.
I have many more tucked away in my files,
I hope you enjoy what I compose,
Even if your response is a fraction of a smile,
Then at least they don’t totally blow!
“Squash Nick
Blues”
Sung to the tune of “The Sound of
Silence”
Simon and Garfunkel
Here I am on court two,
Obsessed with what I want to do,
I don’t care if I lose the game,
All I want is the instant fame,
The amazing feat of smashing the ball dead,
Fills my head,
It’s the Squash Nick Blues.
Every shot I try to find,
That damn nick but I’m so blind,
Impossible angles at every turn,
It’s a mental disease - I just wont learn,
So I just hit harder and continue to hack and hack,
And hope for crack,
It’s the Squash Nick Blues.
I even seem to have to nerve,
To go for it off every serve,
Aiming where the wall and floor meet,
Damn, I missed again by three feet!
And another point lost thanks to my stupid greed,
There’s really no need,
For the Squash Nick Blues.
“Fool” they say, “You do not know,
That your racquet technique really blows”,
When the point is done I don’t care anymore,
Unless the ball is rolling along the floor,
I remember once long ago slotting the nick right in,
But it hit the tin,
It’s the Squash Nick Blues.
And then one day I bowed and prayed,
At the best nick shot I ever made,
A volley reverse backhand boast overhead,
When it hit the floor it came out dead,
I screamed and yelled but realized with a groan,
I was playing alone,
And forever stuck in…The Squash Nick Blues.
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