The Death of Ananias by Raphael

We have already treated the issue of lying (much in the news in another context recently) in a Post called “The Language of Match Play in 1504.” But since lying has its complexities in golf, the golf poets have had more to say. The Rules of Golf make clear that their is no place for lying while playing or reporting a round. But fortunately the Rules don’t extend to the 19th hole.

Grantland Rice, the greatest sportswriter of the first half of the 20th century, gave us a woderful poem called “Three Up on Ananias” that all 19th hole story tellers should love.

THREE UP ON ANANIAS

A group of golfers sat one day
Around the nineteenth hole,
Exchanging lies and alibis
Athwart the flowing bowl.
“Let’s give a cup,” said one of them,
A sparkle in his eye,
“For him among us who can tell
The most outrageous lie.”

“Agreed,” they cried, and one by one,
They played way under par,
With yarns of putts and brassey shots
That traveled true and far;
With stories of prodigious swipes—
Of holes they made in one—
Of niblick shots from yawning traps,
As Vardon might have done.

And when they noticed, sitting by,
Apart from all the rest,
A stranger, who had yet to join,
The fabricating test;
“Get in the game,” they said to him,
“Come on and shoot your bit.”
Whereas the stranger rose and spoke,
As follows, or to wit:

“Although I’ve played some holes in one
And other holes in two;
Although I’ve often beaten par,
I kindly beg of you
To let me off—for while I might
Show proof of well-earned fame,
I never speak about my scores
Or talk about my game.”

They handed him the cup at once,
Their beaten banners furled;
Inscribing first, below his name,
“The champion of the world.”

As for the poem’s title, Ananias was a biblical figure, who fell down and immediately died after uttering a falsehood. The drama is immortalized by Raphael above.

Edgar A. Guest (1881-1959) was born in Birmingham, England and came with his family to Detroit when he was 10. In 1895 he began working for the Detroit Free Press as a copy boy. By 1904 he was writing a weekly column. And eventually he started a daily column that in time consisted almost exclusively of poems. At the height of his popularity his column was carried by 300 newspapers. At age 50 he began a weekly radio show and 20 years later, NBC broadcast his “A Guest in Your Home” on TV. Over his lifetime he wrote more than 20 books of poetry. He was also a lifelong golfer and a few of his 11,000 or more poems had golf themes. The following poem, “Yesterday” could only be written by a seasoned lifer on the links.

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 a three
On this hole—yesterday?”

I see them top and slice a shot,
And fail to follow through,
And with their brasseys plough the lot,
The very way I do.
To six and seven their figures run,
And then they sadly say:
“I neither 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 locker room at night,
When men discuss their play,
I hear them, and I wish I might
Have seen them—yesterday.

O 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.

This poem is included in my book, Golf Course of Rhymes – Links between Golf and Poetry Through the Ages, available at Amazon.com.

Take From the LA84 Foundation's Digital Archives

The cartoon is from the September 1913 issue of The American Golfer. The related story centers on the slow play of a talented young American amateur named Heinrich Schmidt, from Worcester, MA, who lost to Harold Hilton in the sixth round of the 1913 British Amateur Championship at St. Andrews. Here is how the article describes the characteristics of Schmidt’s play,

…his deliberative methods anterior to making the making of a shot, the painstaking care in sizing up the situation before selecting the particular club requisite for the stroke, the practice swings indulged in through the green and the same scrupulous care, only very much more so, when the sacred precincts of the putting -green were reached.

Later in the article, the writer admits that the British critics have a point,

Our players generally are painfully slow, even in friendly matches, aggravated ten-fold in competition.

Earlier still, in the December 1901 issue of the magazine Golf, an anonymous poet succinctly and most colorfully describes his attitude towards slow play,

THE SITTING HEN

A malison[curse] upon the man who thinks by taking thought
That he can lengthen out his drive or hole the putt that’s short.
Upon each separate blade of grass he meditates eternally,
Awhile the field upon him wait and objurgate [castigate] infernally.

Reginald Arkell (1882-1959) was a British script writer and comic novelist who wrote many musical plays for the London theatre. He was also a poet who published a book called Playing the Games in 1935 (London: Herbert Jenkins Limited). And presumably Mr. Arkell was also a restive  golfer as his poem, A Public Nuisance, makes clear.

A Public Nuisance

You know the fellow,
I have no doubt,
Who stands and waggles
His club about.

Empires crumble
And crowns decay:
Kings and Communists
Pass away.

Dictators rise
And Dictators fall—
But still he stands
Addressing his ball.

Arkell seems to be describing a tardy golfer, but then again he could have been characterizing a lame political leader of the time. Any thoughts?

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