THE STANDARD GOLF-BALL
.
I do not want a standard ball,
So many to the pound;
Whether its girth is trim and svelte
Or built to take an out-size belt,
I hardly seem to care at all
So long as it is round.
But it appears to my poor wit
That we might well contrive
A means by which the merest babe
Would hold his own with Mitchell (Abe),
If we could have a standard hit
(Especially the drive).
I want a limit made to bar
The unrestricted whack
(A hundred yards I think should be
The length on which we might agree),
And if you pushed the ball too far
You'd have to bring it back.
And I should love a standard lie.
A ball inside a cup
Or latent under sand or whin
Hampers my progress toward the pin;
It would improve my game if I
Could lift and tee it up.
But most, when tongues of golfers wag,
Talking their dreadful shop
Of rotten luck and stymies laid
And chip-approaches, Taylor-made—
Oh, then I want a standard gag
To make the blighters stop.
O.S.