A Golfer’s Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the green. Not a golfer was stirring, not even one seen. The golf gloves were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that a tee time soon would be theirs.
Little duffers were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of birdies danced in their heads. My friend in her visor, and I in my cap, had just stored our clubs for a long winter’s nap.
With the course frozen over and no one about, I was walking alone when I heard someone shout. Away down the tenth fairway I ran in a flash, but I slipped on some ice and oh, what a crash.
The ice on the hill showed off such a glow. Right down to the half frozen hazard below. It was a disaster, or so it appeared, until I was saved by a guy and reindeer.
With one hand on his cart and one raising a glass, I knew in a moment this golfer had class. His game was amazing, hotter than hot and he whistled, and shouted, and called every shot!
“Now draw it! Now, fade it! Now onto the green!
Like Tiger! Like Arnie! Like Hogan and Snead!
Right down the middle! The ball, it flew far!
Now chip in! Now pitch in! Better than par!”
I was still falling fast, nearly into the burn when the man and his cart had just made the turn. Down on my butt with my back nearly broke, this man scooped me up without missing a stroke.
With a sigh of relief I gave him a nod
And saw that his reindeer was naught but a dog.
They were out chasing geese and getting some practice, I thought for a moment it might be Jack Nicklaus.
He was dressed all in Nike, from his head to his toes, his clothes were all high tech, he was dressed like the pros. A bag full of golf clubs he had flung on his back, and he looked like a winner, not just some hack.
His eyes – they were focused! his demeanor – most serious! He had on his game face, you just knew he meant business! Still I couldn’t believe when I peeked at his card, On the front nine the man had shot nine under par!
The stump of a cigar held tight in his teeth,
Whenever he putted he never would peek.
He had a smooth stroke straight to the cup,
Then he’d look up and smile when he heard it go “plop.”
He was steady and straight, boy, could he stroke it, I thought, with some practice, I too could smoke it! I’m quite sure that no one could get in his head, quite simply, I’d bet many tourneys he’d lead.
He spoke not a word, but went right on playing,
That this was a great round goes without saying.
Six birdies, three eagles and soon he was done.
When he’d finished eighteen, he’d shot fifty one!
He turned in his cart, put the dog in his car,
And faster than lightning bellied up to the bar.
Then I heard him exclaim, “sure this was nifty,
but think, if I’d dropped one, it could have been fifty!”
GOOD GOLFING TO ALL AND TO ALL A MERRY CHRISTMAS!