By: Douglas B. Paterson
As I look down at this little white ball.
I wonder if into the hole, it soon might fall.
My doubts have grown during the past few holes
Confidence gone, clubs acting like foes.
Just one solid shot, that's all it will take,
However the next drives got to carry a lake.
These doubts continue, I soon will see,
On the very next hole I hit it O.B.
The putters not working, it feels like a stick
My timing is off, tempo
way to quick.
My cart partner is a nice young folk
But the past five holes we've hardly spoke.
Why do I insist on enduring this game?
I've got to be crazy to think it's the fame.
The next hole might improve my stroke and my score.
If not, then these clubs I'll play no more
I place my ball on a small broken tee
After all it's only a buck eighty - par three.
Slowly I begin, my club rises and falls.
Begging the golf gods with short hopeful calls.
The club makes solid contact, "finally a good
A beautiful draw, right on line, I could sing.
It lands on the green, just a little to far,
But wait it's got juice, it drives like a car.
Toward the hole, my ball slowly is headed.
Could this be the moment my wallet has dreaded.
"Get in the hole!" I scream at the green
The ball disappears, nowhere to be seen.
We jump in our carts, and race to find out.
Still in my head there remains a slight doubt.
Approaching the green, I soon discover
It wasn't the hole my ball used as cover.
Still ten feet away, there my ball lay.
"Sorry not this time." I hear someone say.
I am bitter and feel very ripped off
Yet it helps none just to sit here and scoff.
I wait for my turn and a birdie attempt
The hole in one club, I remain desperately exempt.
So now I look down at my little white ball
And I wonder if into the hole it soon might fall.
Article courtesy Doug
Paterson of TheGolfExpert.com