I have taken this selection from John Ducker's new golf book, "The Kiss that Caused My Slice". I believe you will find John's wit entertaining: I have provided you with a poem about a mythical (?) round of golf with in-laws. Enjoy!
Raising the Ante
It was the summer after our wedding, our rings still shiny and bright.
My wife planned golf with my in-laws, perhaps on the links we wouldn’t fight.
My in-laws and I don’t mix. The reasons – would take too long to compile ‘em.
They think I belong in prison. I think they belong in an asylum.
But golf was a good idea, for golf makes strange bedfellows of us all.
Why not tee it up? We could take our frustrations out on the ball.
But the day before our round, my wife turned an ankle, which swelled, blacked and blued.
“You still have to play”, she said. “Why?” I asked, “They already think I’m rude.”
So the three of us headed to the course and took some practice swings to get warm,
When my father-in-law’s cell phone rang. I sensed a brewing storm.
A work emergency had come up suddenly, and he would have to run.
“The two of you should still play,” he said. He was sorry to miss the fun.
So now it was just a twosome, and I asked my ogre-in-law about action at the tee box.
“Sure thing,” she said grinning. She’s crazy, I tell you. Crazy like a fox.
“But let’s not bet money,” she said, “No, let’s make it more interesting than that.
Let’s be honest. You think I’m nasty. I think that you’re stupid and fat.
With this match today, let’s put an end to our bickering and brawling.
For example, if you win, I promise to refrain from any early morning calling.
I’ll visit only once a year, and then for no more than four days,
I’ll stop slandering you on the internet, and I’ll accept your slovenly ways.
For birthdays I’ll send gifts that you want, rather than try to inflict my will,
And for all of the things you break at our house, I will stop sending you a bill.
Of course you, my daft son-in-law, will also have to put something in the pot.
If I win I will visit whenever I like, which might seem to you like a lot.
If victorious, I want our picture displayed, visible from your living room couch,
And we will always share Thanksgiving and Christmas, and you will not act like a grouch.
So take the bet if you want to, if not, of course, I would understand,
It is a big risk for you to take, and generally speaking, you are a cowardly man.”
“You are on!” I retorted boldly, and tried to calmly flip the tee.
“Your honor, Your Honor” I joked, and she ripped one as far as I could see.
Like a jack rabbit she parred out, seizing the early lead.
On the par three second she stuck it so close, the putt I had to concede.
And on and on and on she went, dominating the front nine.
I was panicked, and had visions of an in-law apartment running through my mind.
But after we made the turn, I started to get a couple of breaks.
And my mother-in-law struggled, and choked on a couple of must makes.
She righted the ship quickly, playing with a determination I’d never before seen.
She was two up on the 16th tee, and driving like a machine.
But number 16 was a dogleg right that played perfectly for my slice.
And she hooked one into the woods, and screamed a curse word, when ‘darn’ would have sufficed.
On 17 she found the bunker, and took three swings to get out,
All square on the 18th tee box, round 15 of the championship bout.
I put my drive in the fairway, she followed though not quite as far.
She hit the green with her second, and cleaned up the two putt par.
I was also on in two, and had a downhiller that didn’t look so fast,
But my adrenaline was pumping like a fire hose, and I knocked it six feet past.
My heart was pounding hard as I lined up that baby for the halve,
My opponent knew she couldn’t lose, and at my expense let out a laugh.
The putt was tracking from the start, but I swear that witch stared it off line,
And as it lipped out she cackled a satanic sound that reverberated through my spine.
I’d like to tell you more about that match, but I can’t. No, not today.
I’ve got to get to the airport – she lands in an hour, for a three and a half week stay.
Golf's Long and Rich Literary Tradition - *By John Coyne* Copyright © John Coyne. Used with permission. METAPHORICALLY SPEAKING, WE MIGHT SAY golf literature is like one of Bubba Watson's famous d...
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