A GAME OF A
N
G
L
E
S
A game of angles,
Oh, that it is!
Badminton, you say,
That bird-hitting biz.
The obvious smash
That goes to the floor
In that downward angle
Returning no more.
But what of the drop
That loops over the net
Angled so closely
That you’ll never get?
And how about the clear
That soars over your head
To the back line–
That bird is dead!
The flattest of shots
That hard-hitting drive
That gets to the alley
Before you can dive!
And then there’s the slice
That cuts through the air
To the opposite court–
Your opponent says where?
And a tumble so tough
As it climbs over the tape
And falls down the net,
To reach it you gape!
And how about the serve
As upward it goes
Then down to your racket
And back to your foes?
Lastly, fear not the flick
It goes up over your court
To catch you off guard–
To a return you resort.
Oh, for those shuttles,
How sweetly they fly,
Caressing those angles
As you wish them good-bye.
When they don’t return
Your job is done,
Chances are
That you’ve likely won!
Upward and downward,
Cross court and straight,
Some flying quickly,
Some a slow rate.
But what fun it is
To create those angles,
To keep your opponents
In all kinds of tangles.
So just drop and slice,
Hit a smash and a clear,
Create those angles
And instill the fear.
Bottom-line being
Besides winning the game,
The angles you’ve hit
Are never the same!