In 2010, American player John Isner and Frenchman Nicolas Mahut faced each other in a first-round singles match at the Wimbledon Championships. The match lasted for 11 hours and 5 minutes. It is considered the longest match in tennis history. The following poem is adapted from Tennis Leg by Mike Andrelczyk, published in 2024 by Gob Pile Press.
little creatures shimmer inside the pulsing
ocean waves outside, I'm inside the lobby
watching tennis on the beach hotel TV
when I should be working
it's June 22, 2010 and John Isner and Nicolas Mahut
are on court 18 at Wimbledon
their match will last 11 hours and five minutes
and will end on June 24, 2010, they will play 183 games
some called it the endless match
even though it ended, 13 years later
I'm watching it again:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=TyGO0RU7aVk
I keep it on a loop every day so Isner and Mahut never stop
playing
grass is beaten down to lifeless brown, regenerates, is freshly
green again
I'm watching it right now as I write this poem
and right now as you read this poem
Mahut, the Frenchman, faults and Isner, the Georgia
Bulldog, hits
into the net to start the game
Isner drives a double backhand down the line
to force the first break point of the contest
at the same time a fired Tokyo Mazda factory worker
drives his Mazda into the Mazda factory killing one person
and injuring 10 people, Isner wins the first set 6-4
about 150,000 people die each day and
about 385,000 are born each day, says the internet
from the shadows to the light Isner smashes
a monster record-breaking 143 mph ace
the announcer calls it a cracker, says both men
are bringing the thunder, a train derails and tumbles
into a ravine in the Congo, oil continues to spread
across the Red Sea, the United States is investigating itself
to find out if they accidentally funded the Taliban, the
American
hits a lifeless ball just over the net, the Frenchman charges
but his return falls just outside the line, he changes his shirt,
Celia, the first hurricane of 2010, gains speed in the Pacific,
Mahut is distracted by camera shutters, the players are trapped
at the net, I just stared at the second hand of my fake gold
watch for one second, but it felt like three seconds,
we handcuff ourselves to time,
YouTube commenter @theemptyone says,
"Can't believe this was already 10 years ago.."
that was in 2020
Mahut constructs a point from a series of angles
two hours in, Mahut wins the third set 7-6, Isner throws
his racket in frustration, the announcer notes
Isner requires a bit of encouragement from his fellow
Americans, but, he adds, in this most individual
of sports he must raise himself up, the announcer says
seven is a lucky number in some cultures,
then adds, this might be the game of the match,
there are two more days left
it was a quarter to nine 13 years ago
in Istanbul, five people are killed
when a bomb explodes on a bus the endless
wind moves through the black gum trees
Umpire Mohamed thanks a fan to refrain from singing
during a point
mudslides in Brazil, and Mahut applies the pressure, ever
so slightly now
Englishmen are good at narrating stuff, I think
shhh, I try to quiet my mind
in a cold room in the brutal architecture of the world,
the suffering is endless, that's true,
Mahut is trying to end the proceedings as quickly as possible
says the announcer, but he'll still be announcing
for another two days, in fact, they wrote a whole
mockumentary
filmed it, and released it to mild reviews, about this match,
before this match even ended, it's tied now,
15-all, there can only be one winner,
we're in the roulette situation
the world is spinning and nobody knows how
it will end, the world was supposed to end
on December 21, 2012, I was watching the ocean waves
from a hotel window when I was supposed to be working
waiting for something to happen, but the world kept going,
and we're still waiting for Quetzalcoatl to clap back
on June 22, 2023, we stood hand-in-hand in Bar Harbor
as the tourists applauded the sunset
Youtube commenter @noahkhimasia6437 says, "well
this will kill a day of quarantine."
one of the commentators is named Ronald McIntosh,
I don't know the other guy's name, hang on I'll find out
nearly three hours in, at the end of the fourth set, it's two
sets apiece, play is suspended, due to darkness,
Mark Cox is his name.
ok, now it's June 23, 2010,
and three years later, on June 23, 2013,
we got married, danced to accordion music, and fed
each other lemon cake, on May 28, 2023, I suffered
a minor injury playing tennis with my wife,
anyway now, Cox is out and Greg Rusedski is in the booth,
Cox was better imo, McIntosh is still announcing too
Mahut and Isner return to the unblinking sun, still locked up,
put the phone down and stop writing poetry, I think
"spend time with your wife and stop writing poetry,"
then I write put the phone down and stop
writing poetry, I think "spend time with your wife and stop writing
poetry,"
on my phone, I am of two minds, they say
an insect pesters Isner, the other announcer—the worse one,
Greg says the racket looks like a toothpick,
he says Isner is a tall man
Isner is looking at his hand, Mahut bounces up and down,
Mahut has a cool medallion and an alligator
on his shirt, tennis players like basketball,
that's not unusual, Greg says he has a feeling
we could be here for a long time
there's eight hours left in the match,
every day I work for eight hours and I can't afford a house,
the bullshit is endless, you know that, the baseline approach
is always backhanded, from their infinity
pools, the super-rich conspire to conduct endless wars,
we must endure, I'm trying
to remember there's lots of joy in this world
I don't like that I need
to remind myself I need to be a better person all the time
McIntosh says something like the four-four-four hand
(forehand?) from John Isner,
something like that, I have no idea,
Mahut, composed, serves a winner, knots the fifth set at seven
they are talking about body language, there will always be
poems
poems about fire, god, having intestines, oranges on trees,
the curve of love, hyenas turning bones to ash, we'll
endlessly repeat
ourselves in the music of poetry, yes, yes, poetry is endless,
um
40-love, game, McIntosh says both men's service games are
metronomic
it's important not to get too cute out there
not a lot of long volleys here, kinda boring, like life,
there's only a few times when anything interesting happens,
the Wikipedia page for this match says after the second day
of play, Andy Roddick bought John Isner and his coach take-
out
including "three boxes of pizza, all sorts of chicken, and
mashed
potatoes;" and Isner said later that he was so hungry
he, "could have eaten 12 Big Macs."
Greg calls Isner a tall man again, lol, he has 41 aces rn
Mahut scurries across the baseline unable to return Isner's
forehand
it's 15-all, there's still seven hours left to play,
but they don't know how much time is left, the players
switch sides, the umpire is doing the "finger guns" thing to
the line judges
a 5.0 earthquake occurs in Ottawa, two Australians are injured
when they shoot each other in the butt, 30 hippos die from
anthrax poisoning
in Greater Cabarrus County, they're beating the heat,
they have tennis fever, it's match point, but Isner can't break
Mahut
10-10, there's more stormy weather in Kearney, Nebraska,
a hot face lift in Waco, a Headland, Alabama man is
sentenced to life in prison, stimulus dollars go into Tennessee
sewers,
YouTube commenter @howensung6968 says:
"Mom: one more video before bed
Me:"
ok, I'm fast forwarding now
restarting the video at 8:28:45 and Ron says "slow motion..."
it's still June 23, 2010 and it's still February 16, 2024,
the scoreboard is frozen at 47-47,
sent into meltdown by the sheer quantity of numbers,
McIntosh says, Greg keeps saying how tall Isner is
if there's a heaven will it feel
endless? that idea caused me much
anxiety as a child in Sunday school,
but now, I don't think about it much, and
Crow says god would make it good for us anyway
this match has been going on for 8 hours and 38 minutes
I remember the first story I ever wrote
was about a dishwasher
who rode a haunted house ride forever, Mahut serves
it's 49-48 Isner in the deciding set, it's a delicate volley
Mahut hits an ace and it's 49-49, every time,
says Greg, there's an opportunity for someone to win,
something magical happens, I fast forward to 10:53:48
Isner and Mahut are playing tennis in the Sahara
gliding over windblown sand dunes, it's June 24, 2010,
and it's February 16, 2024, and it's March 10, 2999,
emailing a philosopher like "re:re:re:re: infinity"
millions of workers strike in France, one person dies
when a shell leftover from the Vietnam War
explodes in Quang Ngai, Mahut smashes
a drive deep into the corner, serves a winner,
gets lucky on a net ball, and ties it 68-68
when Isner hits into the net, Isner hits a weary forehand,
people say there is endless suffering in the end times
but we keep going, Isner and Mahut are playing tennis,
belting aces across the frozen ground of the South Pole,
connected forever by a fuzzy green ball, they are eternal
enemies and they are each other's only hope
for survival, Ron says Mahut has a glimmering opportunity
for juice, cool
the never-ending match moves to 69 (nice) to 68
Isner is up and now it's 15-15 and at 30-30 it seems
nobody wants to win, everyone in the crowd
has gray hair and now it's match point and
Isner drives one down the line past Mahut and
suddenly it's over
Isner is upside down with his head in the grass and
Nikes in the air, at long long last, Ron says,
Mahut has finally been broken,
Isner the victor, Mahut the vanquished
70-68, Ron marvels at the sheer number of digits
John Isner and Nicolas Mahut are both declared winners
by the announcers, but of course Isner actually won
and he advances to the third round and
John says he's tired and the crowd laughs, and he says maybe
he'll see Nicolas somewhere down the road, and
Mahut says at this moment it's really painful
and someone off camera says one, two, three, four, five
and Isner and Mahut pose for the camera
and the crowd laughs at something
and it's cold outside today
a hand reaches into the ivy
and I restart the video and
the announcer says "first set, Nicolas Mahut to serve,
ready, play," and I'm sorry
for not paying enough attention to you and I'm listening now
to an instrumental
song about shrimp and
∞
