Shock and Appall.
Scandalous and outrageous.
Ombelieble.
Sing, O Muse, of Sentinel, watcher of words,
Who dwelt where bright servers like lightning are hurled,
Where mortals debate on the virtues of strings
And ponder the balance of racquets like kings.
Not on Olympus, nor deep in the sea,
But in digital halls where discussion roams free,
He took up his post by the scroll and the thread,
With wisdom as countless as volumes unread.
When questions arose on the tension of gut,
Or lore of the clay courts where champions strut,
He spoke, and confusion departed like mist
When dawn touches mountains with sunlight and twist.
No stat was too ancient, no match too obscure,
He summoned old seasons with memory sure.
Like a poet of rallies, a priest of the serve,
He honored the nuance where others lost nerve.
He knew of the legends, their triumphs and trials,
From five-set marathons to long baseline miles.
He mapped every rally in eloquent prose,
Each forehand, each slice, and the spin that it chose.
And when heated arguments clouded the air,
He answered with insight both patient and fair.
A steadying presence, a voice without pride,
A calm like the hush before balls bounce and glide.
O Muse, tell the tale to the young and the old:
Of Sentinel’s counsel, impartial and bold.
For forums are many and voices abound,
But seldom does reason so firmly stand ground.
Let melodies echo in tapestry threads,
Through countless new topics and posts that are read.
For as long as the game keeps its rhythm and pace,
The memory of Sentinel will not be erased.
He sits by the servers (both tennis and web),
Guarding the discourse so none becomes dead.
A hero not forged by racket or code,
But by patient responses in message and ode.
So sing, everlasting, in reverent tone —
Of Sentinel, keeper of knowledge alone.
A guardian of civility, steady and grand,
Whose wisdom, like rallies, forever shall stand.
Wonder who got the tail and the hole under it...
