Deuce

You hit a serve from Dusseldorf
I returned it at the Phillips Collection
You collected the shot
Lacing a forehand, skirting the line
I argued that Becker had retired
He, the ball, and Berlin's Wall were out
The ump called it a winner
You smashed an ace at 120 km/h
I stood, kicking the hardcourt
Trumped by Deutschland
Unlike Kurt Russell, I escaped to New York
Plotting for the rematch in Flushing
You served promises
You volleyed threats
We competed again on Labor Day
Outdrawing Sampras vs. Agassi
You see my developed backhand
We play ballet on the court
Aces followed by winners
Borg and McEnroe were envious
Your lobs continue, coated with "Mein Susser!"
My returns up the line, shoot 'Vas?'
The forehand punctuates the stripe
Ich liebe dich!
I backhand over the net
Ich liebe dich?!
Deuce
I serve for championship point
I nick the corner angle
Game, Set, Match, Saleoneusa.
We shake hands at the net
Whispering of future doubles
You train in DDorf
I train with Fort Tryon
We run the doubles circuit
Our electricity generates fortune, domestic and global
Weary of US Open dominance after three titles
We put on new uniforms in Germany
Forming into Tennis' Voltron
Destroying foes in Berlin, Frankfurt, and Cologne
Bonn nominates us as speech ambassadors
We play a special friendly in Amsterdam
In the Van Gogh museum, I curse
Damn, I pull a hamstring
You curse my vices
I yell about your strategy
Our minds and bodies plateau in Dusseldorf
Foreshadowing a retirement
Later on, we play under the Flushing moon
We burn down Boston, setting back Brady's platoon
Then outduel the Philly jewels
New York holds up a mirror
Wrinkles, sore shoulders, and bruised knees shine
From the long tour
You are hungry for more winners
I am full from success
My heart needs to recoup rhythm
For the next tour
You rave about our past adulation
I talk of stopping for present meditation
You compete in Cologne at the German Open
You find an old friend from tour as a partner
I meet a budding star from Osaka
We meet in New York, going for the gold