On the eve of Mr. Wimbledon 2012 I thought it was time for making some reflections.
Many of My British fans will remember Me and Rafa reading this poem before we played each other in the 2008 Wimbledon final (which I lost on a technicality; it was dark). It was originally written by Mr. Kiplings who also makes exceedingly good cakes. Fans outside the UK may have seen the video on MyTube.
As you know, lately I have been letting My GOAT fingers do the talking and I know much of what I say you fun guys consider poetries anyway. But I wanted to lick the envelope, go two steps further. So I have taken Mr. Kiplings’ poem and made some enhancements which I know you will like. Watch the video to remind yourself, then read the new and correct version.
IF you can be Humble when all about You
Are losing theirs and blaming it on You,
If you can trust Yourself when Tommy Haas beats You,
But make allowance for his age too;
If you can go 5 sets and not be tired by running,
Always remember, Your hair looks stunning,
Or being adored, give way to being adored,
And yet You look too good, and talk too wise:
If Goffin can dream – and realise I am his master;
If you can serve – but somehow not keep Your aim;
Playing on orange clay does not end with Triumph, but Disaster
Djokovic? Nadal? Treat those two imposters just the same;
You will be so happy to hear the truth I’ve spoken
My racquets are not only My art but My tools,
Watch the things I do on court, they are a little token,
The entire package is Me… Mr. Cools
I doubt you can ever make one tenth of all My winnings
You’ll never serve first, because I win the coin toss,
You’ll lose, and start again at your beginnings
And I will keep talking about your loss;
Many try to force Me into an error,
Little do they realise, I have a bag full (of unforced errors),
And so hold on, you know You’re the best,
Except you play Nadal, then You’re just like the rest 😦
I can talk with the crowds, tell them to ‘Shut up’,
I am your King – what is a common touch?
To a Serbian family I say tut-tut,,
All staff count on You, way too much;
Fire them quickly, within less than a minute,
Within sixty seconds I will make you run,
But not too fast, Chef says My dinner is on a skillet,
He says, eat it all up and You’ll be a GOAT, my son!