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Golf, the Most Complex Game in Sports
Hacking away, I hit mud, I hit grass
Sometimes I hit ball, but those times they soon pass
It’s either right in the bunker or left in the rough
Neither on the green, nor ever close enough
I’ve quit the game forever, just to
come back the next week
And fell deeper in love, with its eerie mystique
I’ll struggled for years, to improve my game
New clubs, more lessons, The results? Still so lame
Oh some golfers will tell you, "I just
love the outdoors."
And to cart-girls, some ask, "What color are your
drawers?"
But while the landscapes are beautiful and the cart-girls are too
It’s neither of these that make the game stick like glue
What is it then, that makes golf so fun?
Is it the tan on the legs, from hours in the sun?
The abnormality of flight, as a ball hangs in air?
The camaraderie of friends, who are gathered there?
The spring of a ball, that just goes too
far?
Two tall, dumb Norwegians, who light up cigars?
The sand in a bunker, the grass on a green?
The best looking swing, that’s ever been seen?
It could be all of these things, there’s
no doubt it is
But this poem seeks a better answer, it’s not just some quiz
Dig deeper, it’s primitive, it’s a blazingly plain art
And I’ll tell you my man, it’s also straight from the heart
Yes. The true answer. It’s well worth
waiting for.
It explains why golf is fun, and it builds on its lore.
There are two "best sounds" that a true golfer knows.
Two sounds that make tingles, right down to the toes.
These two sounds, of all sounds, they make
golfers come back
Hear these "two sounds" and the day is on track.
The first is the sound of a ball in the cup.
The second the sound of a beer opening up.
It’s simple, so simple,
that it’s fitting of sorts
For a game called golf, the most complex game in sports
Ohhhh. It feels so good to stretch out my
tummy.
Whine wimper whine. Wake up! Wake up mummy!
I'm here, I'm here -- over here, by the door.
Feed me. Feed me. I want some more!
I sniff outside as the sun rises.
I find a discrete place to leave fertilizers.
Now it's back to the porch, where I tap on the door.
Let me back in. I'm done with my chore.
Over to the couch, where I rest and I lay.
In the living room, I spend most of my day.
I pretend not to notice, as they say "Bye-bye" again.
Off to work! Off to school! I'll stay in the den
Now that they're gone -- Hmm what can I find?
What's that in the garbage, a sticky pork rind?
Ahh, what a feast, a tasty little treat.
I love when they leave the trash full of meat.
On the floor I rest. I dream I'm a herder.
The sheep must stay together or the wolf he will murder.
How swiftly I steer the sheep from disaster.
I don't believe I've met one who is faster.
I awake from my dream, now done with my
labor.
A noise outside! It's only the neighbor.
Where are my masters? I wish they were home.
Why do they leave me here all alone?
Ahh, but there's Bonnie. My tale does wiggle.
The key meets the lock and I hear her giggle.
I do a quick search and find my best toy.
I carry it to her. I'm filled with great joy.
Next comes Darren, his arms full of books.
He has been working too hard -- I can tell from his looks.
He pats me nicely on top of the head.
He says I'm a "Good boy" and asks if I'm fed.
At dusk, we all go out for a walk.
There's a frisbee in that bag! I'm almost in shock.
We walk towards the school -- my pace is quite brisk.
I can't wait to sink my teeth in that disk.
I zip through the grass, the wind in my hair.
I nab the frisbee -- clean out of thin air.
I land on the ground as my master beckons.
I quickly turn round, and I'm back there in seconds.
After a while, we leave the playground.
I sniff the sidewalk like any bloodhound.
There in a crack, I find lipstick to munch.
That hits the spot, and makes up for lunch.
Now back in the yard, they take off my
collar.
I hate this part. I wish I could holler.
Finally they get the thing of my neck.
I leap to the porch and I wait on the deck.
We get in the house and I go lay down
As my masters get ready for a night on the town.
They are going to Characters, but I do not croon.
For I've had a great day in the life of Muldoon.
Her dream is a house painted white with black
shutters
A place where her dog can wander and roam
Antiques in each room with décor like no others
A romantically beautiful, elegant home
A well edged driveway and neatly trimmed
grass
A service each Monday that takes out the trash
Bushes and hedges, flower gardens galore
Something close to the movies, not far from the store
Will it be Austin or Monmouth, Atlanta, or
Raleigh?
In order to finance, we avoid Silicon Valley.
Money is not important what matters if life.
This is the dream that come from my wife.
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Bonnie
Darren
Muldoon