'Twas the Backspin Before Christmas

A (hopefully) slightly amusing pre-holiday offering...



'Twas the Backspin before Christmas, and all thro' their heads
Are either visions of grand slams or Safina-esque dread.
The Dane's new rackets are strung by the practice courts with care,
Hoping that they can help her wash that silly "but she has no slams" dirt from her hair.

Francesca's memories are still nestled all snug on the Parisian clay,
While Slingin' Sammy still wonders how she failed to make it HER day.
And Kim in her Dream House, and Justine in Comeback Mode 2,
Are just settling their brains on how to collect more hardware before they are through.

While on all their radars there arose such a clatter,
They collectively sprung from their training tables to see what was the matter.
Away to their cell phones and computers they flew all a flitter,
Updated their Facebook status, and jumped onto Twitter.

The mysterious sparkle from the sky o'er the new year so near,
Gave the lustre of opportunity to many tournaments held dear;
When, what to their wondering eyes should emerge,
But a miniature sleigh led by tennis-playing women on the verge.



With a fashion-conscious driver, as diverse as she is quick,
They all knew in a moment that it could't be St. Nick.
More swiftly than Sisters her coursers they came,
And she whistled, and shouted, and call'd them by name.

"Now! Jelena, now! Caroline, now! Venus and Vera,
On! Maria, on! Ana, on! Sveta and Vika;
To the end of the fortnight! To the final match of the draw!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"

As Serbs after Fed Cup whose barbs they did fly,
Though all will be given a chance, only one will soon no longer be another title shy;
Down Under to Melbourne the coursers and their like will soon shoo,
A sleigh full of contenders -- and, on their minds, an absent one, too.

Three weeks from a new season, at Backspin HQ,
I'll let you in on a secret, just between me and you.
Just moments ago, as I was turning around,
Down the chimney Serena Claus came with something less than a bound.

She was dressed all in black from her neck to her unnaturally big right foot,
Which was adorned with bright sparkles, along with a some ashes and soot;
Shopping bags filled with her Signature line of clothes were flung on her back,
And she look'd like a shopaholic just opening her pack.

Her eyes -- how they twinkled! Her dimples: how merry,
Her scent was like roses, the tone of her mood as smooth as dairy;
Her big smile was as wide as all the oceans we know,
And her red cap was fashionably trimmed with a white band and fluffy ball as white as the snow.

She placed all her presents around the tree trimmed with light,
Lining them up in neat rows, it was a beautiful sight.
I watched as she scribbled notes and attached them to each bagged token,
Laughing to herself as she did so, but being conscious to remain soft spoken.

One read, "Caro -- you can make them be quiet,"
While another, it said, "Victoria -- winning in Oz is nice, maybe you should try it."
Justine's note said something about "not being her,"
While still others appeared to be written to "Kimmy," various Russians, Italians and Serbs.

Then, with a wink of her eye and a turn of her head,
She looked directly at me, and cheerfully uttered, "Be sure to tell them what I said."
"But you haven't said anything," I innocently replied,
Causing her to act as if she was crestfallen, and had recently cried.

"That's what I'm banking on," she said with a wicked grin,
"None of them will fully seize their moment and run with it -- and that'd be a big sin."
She pointed at her clunky-but-sparkly foot cast, then raised a sole finger,
"I'm giving them all this one slam gift of my absence, but after Melbourne it won't linger.

I'll be back before they know it, and come summer many of them will agree,
They had a shot down in Australia, but left without experiencing their glee.
But that's okay, I'm fine with it. I've still got empty space on my shelves,
And by this time next year I'll have (at least) a fourteenth trophy to be polished by my elves."

Then with that she was finished, and turn'd with a jerk,
It was obvious that she had now completed her offseason message-sending work.
Laying a fancy-nailed finger aside of her nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney she rose.



She limped into her sleigh, and to her team gave a shout,
And away they all flew, like a Belarusan in the heat -- seemingly almost ready to give out.
But I heard her exclaim, 'ere she drove out of sight --
"Happy holidays to all, but please don't celebrate in a German restaurant this or any other night!"





...of course, many thanks to my old friend Clem for allowing Your Friendly Neighborhood Backspinner to "borrow" his words for a moment here today.





== 2011 PREVIEW SERIES EDITIONS TO COME, starting on Wednesday of this week ==
* "The Final Seduction of Miss Caroline Wozniacki"
* 2011 Prediction Blowout (w/ Top 10 picks, early slam forecasts, & ATP predictions)
* The Intriguing 100 (region-by-region, with '11 first-timer predictions)
* 1Q Preview (w/ Week 1 Picks)