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In my hand I hold a ball
White and dimpled rather small.
Oh, how bland it does appear
This harmless looking little sphere.

By its size I could not guess
The awsome strength it does possess.
But since I fell beneath its spell
I've wandered through the fires of hell.

My life has not quite been the smae !
Since I took up this stupid game,
It rules my mind for hours on end,
A fortune it has made me spend.

It has made me swear and yell and cry
I hate myself and want to die.
It promises a thing called par
If I can hit it straight and far.

To master such a tiny ball
Should not be very hard at all.
But my desires the ball refuses
And does exactly like it chooses.

It hooks and slices, dribbles and dies
And even disappears before my eyes.
Often it will take a whim
To hit a tree or take a swim.

With miles of grass on which to land
It finds a tiny patch of sand,
Then has me offering up my soul
If only it would find the hole.

It's made me wimper like a pup
And swear that I will give it up
And take to drink to ease my sorrow,
But the ball knows .. I'll be back tomorrow !

................Sound Familiar ?
First Tee
He grasps the club and bends his arms,
He twists his neck and wets his palms,
Whilst softly whistling bits of Brahms.

He summons up his natural class,

Adjusts the ball, adjusts his arse -----
And drives straight into knee-high grass.

Later. . .
I haven't picked up a club since last week.
I've got this blister and walk like a freak.
I've tweaked my neck and my swing's up the creek.
That's why I'm playing like a drain.

I've got new glasses and can't see a thing.
I can't get used to this putter by Ping.
I keep on expecting my builder to ring.
That's why I'm playing like a drain.

Finally. . .
I'm Standing on the eighteenth tee,
On wednesday afternoon at three,
I've hit my driver really well. . .
To find I've played the shot from hell.
I've had some pars ---- a birdie too;
I'd like a score of 92 !!!

From "Summoned by Balls" by Christopher Matthew