Now That the Baseball Strike Is Over, How About a Round of Golf?
You notice that I never write of gol-f,
A sport that I'm not really fond at all of.
In fact, I will confess that I abhor it;
I usually don't admit that it's a spor-t.
Fact is, I've never understood it quite:
The thrill to see a little ball in flight…
Then watch it disappear into the rough
(Y'know, those fairways just aren't wide enough).
I DO know that you hit it towards the "green"—
That patch of grass too far off to be seen;
When finally there, you feel you'd sell your soul
To get that little ball into the hole.
Why I hate it might seem obvious to a dunce:
I've only ever played exactly once.
But before you think I know not what I say,
Just listen while I give the play-by-play.
Arising at the crack of half past dawn,
We headed for that thousand-acre lawn
Where mowing must continue through the night—
And weedwacking begins at morning light.
Arriving at precisely 6:02,
I wondered what I'd got myself into.
I knew it wasn't likely to be funny
When right away they asked me for my money.
But it was my good fortune soon to find
Conveniently I'd left my funds behind,
So Rick (the one who dragged me into this)
Paid dearly for his round of golfing bliss.
"That much, and we don't even get a ball?"
So far, I wasn't getting it at all.
"And where's the guy who chases it for us?"
I asked—and oh my goodness, what a fuss!
We fled the scene and headed for the tee;
I wondered if the crumpets would be free…
"It's not that kind of 'tee'; now don't be daft."
"Oh, jolly good," I said but…no one laughed.
(So serious these golfers—what a shame!
You'd think a laugh or two would help their game.
A golfing wag would push the envelope—
Why, without comedian-golfers, there's no Hope.)
Now Rick, the most experienced of our foursome,
Apparently set out to raise his score some:
The first two times he waved his magic wand,
He sliced the ball into the nearby pond.
They had new balls but wouldn't let me use 'em,
Assuming I would be most prone to lose 'em.
I quite lost track how many balls they parted with;
But me? I ended with the one I started with.
Did I mention that our foursome was a three?
Just Rick and Jeff and I—our good friend Lee
Excused himself because of a mishap:
His wife had just increased his handicap.
Well, soon I'd clubbed the ball 'bout sixty hits;
I smoked it 'round the course—I gave 'em fits.
"There—I shot a 60! Now let's roll!"
"Okay," said Jeff, "but first…the second hole…"
I sighed, as round the merry links I moiled,
With Twain, agreeing "golf's a good walk spoiled."
Or as grandma used to say of golf: "God love it—
It takes so long to play so little of it!"