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The Hooker
It was in the mists of morning, beneath the rising morning sun, We had come to conquer Ft. Langley, It was me and Al and John. We had all teed off quite nicely, on number one I scored a seven, But Al warned me that one was easy when compared to number eleven, His eyes clouded as he spoke of it, I thought, God, it must be tough. If its difficult for Allan, for me it'll be really rough Now Allan is a golfer, par excellence, among the best But we 'could see that number eleven, had put him to the test. Well we carried on like troopers, we thrashed 3 & 4 & 5. In the cool Ft. Langley morning, it felt great to be alive. We left six's fairway smoking, seven posed a little hitch John and Al were on the fairway, while I had smoked one into the ditch Al was getting on a roll now blasting off just like a gun But John was coming on like blazes nipping hard on Allan's buns, We drove off on number 9 hole blasting off out into space In the distance stood eleven ….we saw tension on Allan's face. For eleven is a nightmare reserved only for the deft For pressing hard against you is the river on' the left, It appeared that Al had been there for his trembling would not cease As we walked toward the tee box Al dropped briefly to his knees We could feel the tension mounting, by Allan's eyes we could clearly tell That the three of us were standing at the gate of golfers hell. John was first up to the tee box drove a beauty down the pike I was next and drove off nicely, center line and slightly right. Al approached like he was frozen by the fears of hooking left But he mustered his composure till he seemed quite calm and deft. Be careful Al, we cautioned for on the left beyond those oaks You'll be straight into the river and that costs two penalty strokes Al teed up and drove his ball off picked his head up for a look It was far and straight and pretty then 'oh my God' it started to hook. It disappeared beyond the treetops Allan's jaw dropped in a gasp In the distance we were certain that we heard a little splash, Now Allan is a scholar predisposed to being kind But he muttered as we snickered something about kissing his behind. Al said damn I'm shooting 3 now I said, "No, I think it's more." John said counting two for penalty I think now you're shooting four Al bent down to tee another, lined up carefully to the right Then he leaned in to the sucker and pounded out with all his might Once again it rose like lightning exploding out into the sky But when Al looked up to see it he could not believe his eyes It was hooking to the river and disappeared into the heaven "Fore" cried Al in horror, John said, "No, I think it’s seven." Al was losing his composure he was crumbling from the stress But he knew he had to do it and overcome his sheer distress. Once again he teed a ball up took his time to take his aim Let her rip and hit a beauty but oh my God, it did the same. "Fore" croaked Allan weakly, as I fumbled for my pen. John said don't forget the penalty I think now you're shooting ten. Al staggered to his golf bag, his knees weak and soft as butter He fumbled with his golf clubs and finally he pulled out his putter. It was only with much urging, he agreed to try it one more time This time he hit a beauty straight down field on center line. As we helped Al down the fairway walking off the eleventh tee We thought we heard the devil laughing through the breezes in the trees. We could see that Al was hurting we knew he'd never be the same But don't believe him when he tells you, that he's given up the game. He'll be golfing till he dies, we think he's real hooked on the sport But Al, as a professional golfer you’re coming up a little short.
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