In the blistering heat of the summer sun,
On the court, where battles are won,
A racket in hand, a fire in the eye,
This is tennis, where legends fly.
Oh, you can’t be serious, my friend,
In this game, there’s no pretend.
With a serve that’s fierce, like thunder’s roar,
The crowd awaits, they want more.
Back and forth, the ball does dance,
A delicate ballet, a chance for romance.
But don’t mistake this grace for soft,
In every swing, there’s a tempest aloft.
“Out!” cries the umpire, a verdict so cold,
But the warrior within is fiercely bold.,
McEnroe’s spirit, a tempest untamed,
In every match, his passion proclaimed.
“YOU CANNOT BE SERIOUS!” he shouts,
A rallying cry, a battle that flouts.
Through tantrums and smashes, a storm on the court,
A maverick’s game, a relentless effort.
Yet, in the chaos, a genius prevails,
A maestro of tennis, a tale that trails.
With a touch so deft, like a painter’s brush,
McEnroe’s legacy, an enduring hush.
So here’s to the game of finesse and fight,
To the echoes of McEnroe, bold and bright.
On the court, where warriors are born,
Tennis, a symphony, forever worn.
