to Idelies Govett
When he lost the fourth, the match appeared done
Ferrero's fire meant we wuz overcome
And the dream it was dust
As our 'ero lay on the bakin turf
The wound in his chest like some 'oly curse
Til like Laz'rus
He raised imself, tho' shaken 'n sore
Dreamin' o the ripcurl an Hawaiian shore
The ref sez “its time.” The masseuse is done
Die for the silver, 'quit layin' in sun
And the Fans are singin'
Waltzin Matilder fit to nearly burst
But he clutches 'is towel, fer better o worse
So Fitzy does 'is jiggin
Twistin' 'is 'eels, 'til Flip 'e does the same
To get his feet movin' an' into the game
The gods were smilin' when he sprung an ace
Our 'ero reborn's back into the race
Chargin' n' chippin
He broke in the first, then he broke again
Smashin' up the tunnel to the Spanish Main
The fans went wild wiv singin'
Man, you should of 'eard the 'orrendous din
O buglin' and drummin on instruments o tin
Lleyton sprints roarin' from the locker room
C'MOM he shouts, relishin' their doom.
Wiv a serve that's perfeck
The beer flows along wiv sparklin wine
As Scud 'e rips 'em to the service line
What the heck?
Six Zero the score which turned the tide
Brought the Cup to Oz where it should reside
A graduate of UNSW, before completing an MA in Creative Writing at University of East Anglia, and a PhD at Cambridge, Barbara Cocks now lives and writes in Denver Colorado. After publishing in “Nation Review” and “TimeOut/ Net books” she is currently working on a mock heroic tennis epic inspired by Australia's Davis Cup victories and the poetry of CJ Dennis. When she isn't travelling, writing, or teaching, she can think of nothing better than being in a stadium where there are “balls flyin' cross net and the crowd is on its feet cheerin' Aussie 'eroes “facin' life or deaf.”
