This year’s Masters deserves a commemorative poem. Here is my offering:

Hands Up

Sunday at the Masters
With Rory up two
Would he finally slam it
Or again not come through.

His followers were many
With the same unease
When he doubled the first
A plaintive “please.”

Then at the second
He fell back by one
The crowd behind him
Was not having fun.

They had come to cheer
To rise with hands up
Instead, they were asking
Will he ever lift the cup?

The betters had made
DeChambeau the villain
But after thirteen
Rose was the fill-in.

Rose rose from way back
To now one behind
An unexplainable water ball
Put Rory in a bind.

From fourteen on
A two man show
With Rory one up
With one more to go.

But the hoped for ending
Would have to wait
Rory’s putt slid past
There’d be no checkmate.

The patrons’ anxiety
Was peaking for sure
An unwanted playoff
They’d have to endure.

On eighteen again
Rose gave it his best
But Rory one better
Ended the test.

He fell to the ground
Finally, no grief
The slam was completed
His feeling, “relief.”

Fans ‘round the world
Shared in his glory
An exclusive club joined
One hell of a story.

Leon S White, PhD

Author of:
If Golf Balls Could Talk – Collected Golf Poems
Golf Course of Rhymes – Links between Golf and Poetry Through the Ages

Both available at Amazon.