This golf is such an easy game,
Just hit the ball right where you aim.
I’ll play the front in 33
And start it with a birdie 3.
I’ll smash my drive right down the middle
And maybe draw it just a little.
I’ll hit a 4-iron to the green,
I’ll knock it stiff; I’ll hit it clean.
Once on the green I’ll read the break:
First left, then right, just like a snake.
The putt is fast, the green’s like granite,
Not to worry, I’ll simply can it.
I thought I had this game in hand,
But would it work as I had planned?
I teed it up with too much zeal
And hit my drive right off the heel.
It went way left, between those mounds,
Beyond the stakes and out of bounds.
I’ll tee another at your insistence.
Must I play it stroke-and-distance?
I drove the next one in the trees.
Why did I pay those darn green fees?
My temper rose from hot to hotter
As I put the next one in the water.
I took a drop, was there in 5,
I should have been there on my drive.
The next one bounced into the sand,
I’d had as much as I could stand.
In the water, in the trap,
In the trees — I hate this crap.
But then as if from up above,
My luck changed like hate to love.
I blasted out toward the pin
And watched the ball as it rolled in.
A miracle it was, from Heaven;
How else could I have saved a 7?
My swing is in a sorry state.
My handicap is 38.
My game’s the butt of many jokes,
But on this hole I get 3 strokes.
I didn’t play it like a star,
But 3 from 7 leaves net par.
How did this sport achieve such fame?
To me it’s such an easy game.
by Ron Hargrove