Damn, I made that shot yesterday!

...golfers' excuses are predictable

I used to play a lot of golf away back when. I haven't played for quite a few years now. Pins and screws in an ankle will do that to a fellow. I sold my clubs at a yard sale when I moved up to God's country, but I still look longingly at the plush green fairways of our local course every time I drive past it, at least twice a day.

My young neighbor is an avid golfer and I like to quiz him on his game from time to time. Invariably, he will say things like "not bad" or "I was having trouble with my driver today. Can't figure it out, it was working beautifully yesterday."

I've heard that "yesterday" more times than I can count. I also like the one when you team up with another golfer and the first thing he says is: "I haven't been playing much lately so don't expect too much." That means he's going to hit his first drive off the tee at least 300 yards straight down the middle of the fairway. Then, of course, there's the classic "the sun was in my eyes" or "that damn wind, it does it to me every time."

I gew up enjoying the work of homespun poet Edgar A. Guest. I give the rest of this post over to him because he captures so perfectly the excuse mentality of most duffers today and yesterday. Things really haven't changed on the links since Edgar's 1920s and 30s because golfers will be golfers, regardless the era.

Yesterday

I've trod the links with many a man,

And played him club for club;

"Tis scarce a year since I began

And I am still a dub.

But this I've noticed as we strayed

Along the bunkered way,

No one with me has ever played

As he did yesterday.

---

It makes no difference what the drive,

Together as we walk,

Till we up to the ball arrive,

I get the same old talk:

"Today there's something wrong with me,

Just what I cannot say.

Would you believe I got three

For this hole -- yesterday?"

---

I see them top and slice a shot,

And fail to follow through,

And with their *brassies plough the lot,

The very way I do.

To six and seven their figures run,

And then they sadly say:

"I never dubbed nor foozled one

When I played -- yesterday."

---

I have no yesterdays to count,

No good work to recall;

Each morning sees hope proudly mount,

Each evening sees it fall.

And in the loker room at night,

When men discuss their play,

I hear them and I wish I might

Have seen them -- yesterday.

---

Oh, dear old yesterday! What store

Of joys for men you hold!

I'm sure there is no day that's more

Remembered or extolled.

I'm off my task myself a bit,

My mind has run astray:

I think, perhaps, I should have writ

These verses -- yesterday.

---

Amen. I love it. Been there and felt that!

(* A "brassie" was a wooden club with a brass plate on the sole, or head. I have one that belonged to my dad. It is a collector's item. I also have a "mashie", equivalent of a six-iron.)