Wednesday, December 26, 2012


Did you receive everything you wished for on Christmas morning? Don’t you find it gets harder and harder year after year not only to find gifts for your loved ones but also to figure out what you want yourself? My wife asked me multiple times what I would like, and I couldn’t think of one single thing. Lucky for me, she figured out some stuff and I ended up with a nice little swag in the end. This poem was posted on the forum a few years ago. The Squash Poet was rather specific in his wishes, however it appears Santa couldn’t be so accommodating…

Oh! Magical Santa with beard so white
Come down my chimney on Christmas night
You possibly can’t get my gift-list wrong
I’ve been so nice the whole year long
I picked up my socks, I drank a bit less
I told my wife she looked thin in that dress
Just one little gift, nothing more, and then
I’ll never ask for another ever again!

The Squash Poet

"Twas the Night After Christmas"

‘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!

The Squash Poet

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