Today is Golfer’s Day. We celebrate by playing the game, recognizing those who play it professionally and leisurely, and many who may not play, but hold the beauty of the game in high regard. It is believed that the game of golf actually originated in Scotland although the true origin of the word is unknown. We salute all of the great Masters Champions of the past, present, and future.
Congratulations are in order to Sergio Garcia who scored big in The 2017 81st Masters Tournament this weekend. This is his first win at The Masters and his first major championship after 19 years on the PGA tour. He walked away with a $1,980,000 prize purse, the famous Green Jacket, his name engraved on the permanent Masters’ trophy which remains at the Club, a Sterling replica of the Masters Trophy and a gold medal. Sweet! The 2017 KPMG Women’s PGA Championship kicks off June 27-July 2, 2017 at the Olympia Fields Country Club in Illinois.
Since I am not a bonafide golfer, although I have all of the equipment to look the part, I decided to share this lighthearted poem, “Fore Play” to commemorate Golfer’s Day and National Poetry Month.
My Titleist was on the tee Big Bertha in my hand as he told me to bend my knees part my legs ever so slightly keep your eye on the ball he said then swing your arms, hips, and follow-through now with a strong voice yell “Fore!” Huh? What did this have to do with swinging?
Fore what? is the question I had to ask? What kind of foreplay is this? To fore-warn others of a wayward shot no one wants to get hit by a stray ball you know? Fore crying out loud, why not just yell “Move!” How about “Watch Out” or “Take cover?”
Fore some crazy twisted reason I wondered if he was really fore real when he asked fore what purpose was I here I looked down at the golf ball looked out over the green took a swing as Bertha slapped that ball the Titleist was airborne and I yelled “Fore” he asked why I was yelling so loud I said, “Fore Pete’s sake, you told me to. Pete.”