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Golf History, Golf Poetry and the Making of the Featherie

April 19, 2010 by Leave a Comment

A Featherie Ball

aFor many American golfers, the history of golf begins with the 1913 U.S. Open won in a playoff by Francis Ouimet over Harry Vardon and Ted Ray. The author Mark Frost marks this event as “the birth of Modern Golf” in his bookThe Greatest Game Ever Played. But what about the birth of the game? To get a better idea as to the origins of golf and its early history I would suggest a book called A Swing Through Time — Golf in Scotland 1457-1744 by Olive M Geddes (revised edition published in 2007).  Quoting from the book’s introduction,

This book takes a close look at the earliest written records of golf in Scotland, from the 1457 Act of Parliament banning the game to the first ‘Rules’ of golf — the ‘Articles and Law’ of 1744 drawn up by the Company of Gentlemen Golfers for the competition for the Silver Cup played over Leith Links.

Interestingly, some of these “written records” were recorded in verse. For example, Ms. Geddes devotes a chapter to a discussion of the first book entirely devoted to golf, called The Goff, first published in 1743. It was a mock-heroic epic poem, 358 lines long, written by an Edinburgh lawyer (who later became a Minister) named Thomas Mathison.  A second edition was published in 1763 and a third 30 years later. In 1981 the United States Golf Association published facsimiles of all three editions under one cover in a limited edition of 1400 copies. One of few surviving third edition copes was sold for $80,500 in 1998.

The Goff tells the story of a golf match on the Leith Links played between Castalio and Pygmalion, the heroic combatants of the tale. But the poem also makes reference to some golf related activities of the time. In one interesting section of eight lines, Mathison describes in some detail how featherie golf balls were made:

The work of Bobson; who with matchless art
Shapes the firm hide, connecting ev’ry part,”
Then in a socket sets the well-stitch’d void,
And thro’ the eyelet drives the downy tide;
Crowds urging crowds the forceful brogue impels,
The feathers harden and the Leather swells;
He crams and sweats, yet crams and urges more,
Till scarce the turgid globe contains its store.

Ms. Geddes remarks that “Bobson” probably referred to a St. Andrews ball-maker named Robertson (likely an ancestor of Davie and Allen Robertson). The implication is that although balls were made in Leith at the time, the best balls came from St. Andrews. (Featherie balls dated back to 1618 and were only replaced by Gutta-Percha balls in 1848!) I hope that those of you who might be interested in golf’s early history will have the opportunity to consult A Swing Through Time.

Filed Under: golf, golf balls, golf history, golf poetry, golf poetry books, poetry, Scotland, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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Ted Ray’s Golf Swing

April 12, 2010 by 2 Comments

 

The question “What’s wrong with his/her golf swing?”  is often answered today by looking at slow motion video. But the question goes back long before video analysis. It was raised with regard to Ted Ray’s swing shortly after he had participated in the famous 1913 U.S. Open won by Francis Ouimet.

The November 1913 issue of The American Golfer included the following short item titled “Ray’s ‘Sway'”:

Ray comes to us with the reputation of swaying on his up-stroke. Ray does not sway—and we have observed him very closely. What he does is this: Just after the backswing starts the weight is transferred to the right leg; then, about half way up the swing the left shoulder is dropped more or less—a movement in contradistinction to, and offsetting, the first, but to the uninitiated eye, giving every appearance of a sway. The first puts the body weight where it properly belongs—back of the ball—the second enables the arms to complete the upswing. The bending of the knees, more especially the right one, outwardly, creates the false impression of a body sway. It is a sort of leaning in to the ball. Not “according to Hoyle” perhaps, but mighty effective—in Ray’s case.

If you didn’t know, you would have thought that Johnny Miller wrote this! But this was a note in a 1913 golf magazine. And so, not unexpectedly, a short poem was also included:

OH! SAY

Oh! tell us Teddy—Teddy Ray,
Tell us truly, we do pray—
If as some are wont to say,
You do really, really sway.

We ourselves incline that way;
But that is not the proper way,
Our friends inform us day by day
When at the 19th hole we pay.

HIP-HIP-HOO-RAY

Does Ray sway?
Ray does not sway.
He leans; which means
Ray does not sway.

Ray was known for his portly build and prodigious length off the tee, though his ball often landed in awful lies. His recovery powers were said to be phenomenal and cartoonists usually caricatured him with a niblick in hand, festooned with clumps of heather and saplings, with an inseparable pipe clamped between his teeth. During his career he won the 1912 British Open and the 1920 U.S. Open.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf instruction, golf poetry, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Casey, Tiger and Two New Seasons

April 5, 2010 by 1 Comment

A while ago I wrote a parody on the poem “Casey at the Bat” by Earnest Thayer called “Tiger on the Mat.” When I wrote the poem I naively believed that everyone knew the original, but sadly I was wrong. Now with baseball season beginning and Tiger returning, I thought I would give golf/baseball fans another chance to read (better yet recite) one of the greatest sports poems ever written.  In addition, I found a poem by Gantland Rice written in response to a fan who had never heard of the Casey poem. Rice whose golf poems have appeared several times in my Blog, gives you an idea of how engaging sports poetry can be in his response to the “cove who never heard of “Casey at the Bat.”

So, given this momentous week, Go Red Sox, and yes, Go Tiger.  I hope they both look better this November than last.

He Never Heard of Casey!by Grantland Rice ©
Published: New York Herald Tribune (06-01-1926)
I knew a cove who’d never heard of Washington and Lee,
Of Caesar and Napoleon from the ancient jamboree,
But, bli’me, there are queerer things than anything like that,
For here’s a cove who never heard of “Casey at the Bat”!

He never heard of Mudville and its wild and eerie call,
“When Flynn let drive a single, to the wonderment of all,”
For the stormy roar of welcome that “recoiled upon the flat
As Casey, mighty Casey, was advancing to the bat.”

“There was easy in Casey’s manner,” from the Ernest Thayer style,
“There was pride in Casey’s bearing,” and his tanned face wore a smile,
And when they thundered “Attaboy!” of course he tipped his hat,
But here’s a cove who never heard of “Casey at the Bat”!

“Who is Casey?” Can you beat it? Can a thing like this be true?
Is there one who’s missed the drama that ripped Mudville through and through?
Is there a fan with soul so dead he never felt the sway
Of these famous lines by Thayer in the good old Thayer way?

“Ten thousand eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
Five thousand tongues applauded as he wiped them on his shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his hip,
Defiance gleamed in Casey’s eye, a sneer curled Casey’s lip.”

The drama grew in force and flame, and Berserk went the mob,
With Casey representing more than Hornsby, Ruth, or Cobb;
And as the pitcher cut one loose as if fired from a gat –
Say, here’s a guy who never heard of “Casey at the Bat!”

“The sneer is gone from Casey’s lip, his teeth are clenched in hate;
He pounds with cruel violence his bat upon the plate.”
And as the pitcher shot one through to meet the final test
There’s one low and benighted fan who never heard the rest.

Ten million never heard of Keats, or Shelley, Burns, or Poe;
But they know “the air was shattered by the force of Casey’s blow”;
They never heard of Shakespeare, nor of Dickens, like as not,
But they know the somber drama from old Mudville’s haunted lot.

He never heard of Casey! Am I dreaming? Is it true?
Is fame but wind-blown ashes when the summer day is through?
Does greatness fade so quickly and is grandeur doomed to die
That bloomed in early morning, ere the dusk rides down the sky?

Is there nothing left immortal in this somber vale called Earth?
Is there nothing that’s enduring in its guarding shell of worth?
Is everything forgotten as the new age stumbles on
And the things that we once cherished make their way to helengon?

Is drifting life but dust and dreams to fade within a flash,
Where one forgets the drama of the Master and the Ash?
Where one has missed the saga with its misty flow of tears,
Upon that day of tragedy beyond the trampling years?

“Oh! Somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright;
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light;
And somewhere men are laughing, and somewhere children shout,
But there is no joy in Mudville – mighty Casey has struck out!”

Rise, De Wolf Hopper, in your wrath, and cut the blighter down!
Although Wang may be forgotten in the passing of renown,
There’s a grave crime committed which should take you to the mat,
For here’s a cove who never heard of “Casey at the Bat”!

I had an epic written which I thought would never die,
Where they’d build a statue for me with its head against the sky;
I said “This will live forever” – but I’ve canned it in the vat,
For here’s a guy who never heard of “Casey at the Bat”!
He Never Heard of Casey! by Grantland Rice ©
Filed Under: golf, golf poetry, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , ,
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A Springtime Exchange Between a Golf Poet and his Editor

March 29, 2010 by 1 Comment

Robert K. Risk's book, Songs of the Links (1919), includes the following timely exchange between Risk, the golf poet, and and Garden G. Smith (1860-1913) the editor of Golf Illustrated, the British weekly, for many years and an important contributor to the literature of the game. (Risk's poem has been slightly shortened.)

TO THE EDITOR

Bid me write and I will write
Of club and ball and tee,
Trusting the matter I indite
Will be approved by thee.

Bid me to stay my pen and I
Will muzzle it with grace,
Regarding not impatiently
Regretted "lack of space."

But when you hint that I should do
Some verse concerning Spring,
That, I must frankly caution you,
Is quite another thing.

Although not disinclined to sing,
No poet can ignore
That all that can be sung of Spring
Has been well sung before.

Therefore, should I to platitude
And outworn phrase incline,
The brickbats thrown by readers rude
Are yours, dear sir, not mine.

In Spring we walk the daisied links
Where lively lambkins leap—
Too few of them, one sadly thinks,
Will ever grow to sheep.

In Spring a brighter glitter shines
On the well-burnished cleek,
But still we do 5-holes in 9's
Though playing thrice a week.

In Spring the chronic topper dreams
Of getting down to scratch,
Of being picked in all Club teams,
And winning every match.

In Spring we cease to argufy
About the "best-length hole,"
Which simply means the one that I
Enjoy—and you can't hole.

......

'Tis Spring that whets our appetite
For Three weeks' solid golf,
Though ere the third week is in sight
We shall be direly "off."

In Spring the poet is supposed
Keenly his lyre to tune;
But here these verses are foreclosed,
For I am off to Troon.

And here is the editor Garden G. Smith's response:

THE EDITOR

WITH APOLOGIES TO HIS READERS

'Tis bitter sad the poets should
There work neglect for sport,
Wile Mr. Risk plays golf at Troon,
I am two verses short.

May bunkers trap his longest shots,
May rabbit holes annoy him;
And if this here occurs again
I'm blowed if I'll employ him.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, golf poetry books, humor, poetry, Scotland, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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Six Tweets to Better Putting

March 22, 2010 by Leave a Comment

J. H. Taylor putting

There seems to be general agreement that the first printed book of golf instruction was The Golfer’s Manual, By a Keen Hand, written by H. B. Farnie and published in 1857. Since then instruction has grown to be one of the major products of the golf industry. These days it is still packaged in books, but also in magazines, newspapers, advertisements, blogs, videos, YouTube clips and tips. In addition, instruction is sold to individuals and groups by thousands of teaching pros.

But in today’s busy world, there is a need for the “short and sweet” in golf instruction. With that in mind I offer a 12 line verse that packages the essence of what you need to know to become a better putter. And if you are put off by poetry, just think of this guide as six putting tweets.

Six Tweets to Better Putting

Line up and trust when putting
Head still a must when putting

A rhythmic swing
Is just the thing when putting

Get rid of fear
At least be near when putting

All are agreed
The first rule is speed when putting

Consistency
The foremost key when putting

The best advice
Don’t think twice when putting.

Leon S. White, March 2010

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf instruction, golf poetry, humor, poetry, putting, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Golf’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell”

March 15, 2010 by Leave a Comment

This week’s poem is by an English golfing poet though his name is unknown. It appeared in a book called Mr. Punch on the Links which consists of golf stories, cartoons, and poems from the British magazine “Punch.” The book was published around 1930.  “Punch,” a magazine of humour and satire, ran from 1841 until its closure in 2002.

The poem provides a gentle warning to two kinds of golfers; the first who is only too willing to tell it all after a match and the second who give the first the opportunity.

The Retort Imaginary

SIR, for the information you’ve imparted,
The prompt outspokenness of your reply,
Ranging from that fine drive with which you started
To the long putt by which you won the bye,
With details of the bunkers, whins and banks
Which you surmounted, pray accept my thanks.

I’ve no excuse now, with the facts before me,
For ignorance, no reasonable ground
For doubt as to the hole that saw you dormy,
Or where your victim finally was drowned.
‘Twas kind to give a confidence so free
To a mere casual listener like me.

You’ve told me of the pair in front that beckoned
For you to pass, then found the ball and played
(At the fourth hole) which made you miss your second;
You’ve told me of the stymies you were laid,
And indicated just exactly where
You lifted from the ground under repair.

That chip that got a bad kick at the seventh;
The ninth (the short hole), where you hit the pin;
That run-up shot that won you the eleventh;
The thirteenth where the ball just trickled in—
You’ve made it all quite clear, and it was nice
To know you’ve cured that tendency to slice.

I’m quite convinced you’ve done the best you can, Sir;
Ungrudgingly you’ve given me, I know,
A comprehensive categoric answer
To my brief question of an hour ago;
But it was mere politeness, all the same,
That made me say, “Well, Jones, how goes the game?”

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, golf poetry books, humor, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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If Johnny Cash Had Been a Golfer

March 8, 2010 by 2 Comments

I saw Johnny Cash and the original Tennessee Two live in the late ’50’s. I was a fan then and still am.

Michael Streissguth, in Johnny Cash: the biography, tells us that Cash had a vacation home in Jamaica on a golf course. He didn’t play but he did ride around on in his golf cart from time to time and “swipe golf balls from the rich golfers.” He’d give “buckets full” of balls to poor Jamaican kids so they could sell them back to the golfers!

A number of singers were or are  golfers. Bing Crosby heads a list that includes Dean Martin, Andy Williams, Don Cherry, Glen Campbell, Vince Gill, Kenny G, Justin Timberlake, Anne Murray, Celine Dion and many others.

But what if Johnny Cash had been a golfer. My thoughts below.

If Johnny Cash Had Been a Golfer

If Johnny Cash had been a golfer
He might have sung about
Seein’ the line instead of walkin’ it.

If Cash had played the game
He might have wrote about
Shootin’ par instead of guns.

If Johnny Cash had been a golfer
There would have been
Two men in black instead of one.

Had Cash played golf with the Tennessee Two
They’d have worried about
Puttin’ as well as pickin’.

Walkin’ the fairways Cash would have hummed:
“Get Rhythm” ─ his swing thought,
“I guess Things Happen That Way” ─ his excuse,
A “Great Speckled Bird” ─ always his hope.

And can you imagine Johnny Cash
With his voice
Yellin’ “Fore?”

Cash would have worried about the caddies,
And how they were treated.
About the poor kids,
And their chances of every playin’.
He might even have pleaded for a few holes
At Folsom Prison.

It’s too bad Johnny Cash never golfed.
Think of the great musical golf stories
He’d have left us
To lift us,
Good round or bad.

Leon S White, March , 2010

Filed Under: golf, golf poetry, golf songs, Johnny Cash, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , ,
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More Match Play Poetry

March 1, 2010 by 1 Comment

A few weeks ago I wrote a Post about the switch from match to stroke play that occurred about 100 years ago. More recently I came across the following statement by a CBS Sports writer (originally from England) named Ross Devonport.

Match play. Ahhh…the purest form of golf. There’s nothing better than watching to guys going head-to-head over 18 or 36 holes, taking risks instead of being worried about not making the cut and playing conservatively.

I actually think Devonport got it wrong. Watching the Accenture on TV last week was, by the last round, reduced to watching a few shots squeezed in between advertisements. What’s better would be to engage in a friendly game of match play from time to time and leave the score cards with the starter. But when was the last time someone came up to you at your local course and asked “do you want a match?”  Maybe in Scotland, but not in the U.S. Or am I wrong?

Matches of all kinds were certainly played at the Old Course in St. Andrews in the 1920’s. And for some undetermined reason, The Royal and Ancient Golf Club recommended at that time with regard to such matches that “all sympathetic handicapping should be discontinued.” This advisory inspired a wily golf poet to respond with the following tale:

Out of Sympathy

Neuritis was Jones’s trouble, plus a cold and a hacking cough,
When he found his way to the links one day and fancied a round of golf;
I was practising on the putting-green, failing to get them down,
When he hoarsely crooked, “Do you want a match?”—and the stakes were half-a-crown.

“Of course,,” said Jones, “as I’m far from fit I shan’t give you a game;
Unless I receive some extra strokes I’m afraid you’ll find it tame;
I don’t suppose I shall hit a ball (he choked); you’re sure to win”
So I gave him a half instead of a third, with a couple of bisques thrown in.

Taking the honor I promptly sliced into a clump of gorse,
While poor old Jones with terrible groans drove a peach straight down the course;
I got well out and snatched a five (which might have been much more);
He topped his second and fluffed his third, then holed his approach for a four.

I reached the green from the second tee and murmured, “Good Enough!”
Jones pushed his off (he had to cough!) to the right and was lucked in the rough;
His approach pulled up on the edge of the green, but his putt, though a trifle brisk,
Dropped in, and he said, when my second lay dead, “My hole! I shall take a bisque.”

From there to the turn, whatever I did, the bunkers took their tolls,
While Jones, though suffering awful pain, continued to take the holes;
He was “dormie nine,” and he won the tenth by laying a chip-shot dead;
“The match!” he moaned with a sickly smile and “Double or quits,” I said.

The rest of the tale is steeped in gloom too deep to describe in rhyme;
He won the bye and the bye-bye too—we’d double or quits each time;
With a look resigned and a permanent where he took the well-known road
To the “nineteenth hole,” four half-crowns “up” and—SYMPATHY BE BLOWED!

The poem originally came from the magazine Punch, and appeared in The American Golfer on May 7, 1921. The term “bisque” is a handicap stroke in match play that can be taken at any hole nominated by the player who receives it. And “the bye” refers to a hole or holes remaining if the match is won before the 18th hole.

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, poetry, Scotland, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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The Straight Truth

February 22, 2010 by Leave a Comment

“The Straight Truth” is straight forward. In simple words and exceedingly short lines, this rhyme of woe narrowly defines the duffer’s usual game. It is best read on a winter’s day, but only with reference to previous golfing adventures. Next season things will be different!

THE STRAIGHT TRUTH
(A Duffer’s Lament)

Off I
go
hopes too
high

Tee the
ball
let it
fly

Where it
lands
one of the
keys

In the
grass
not in the
trees

Good starts
help
to calm the
mind

Bad starts
cause
a menal
bind

Hybrids
now
crowd the
bag

Still fairway
shots
too often
lag

Sometimes
chips
turn out
fine

Then easy
putts
avoid the
line

Eighteen
holes
a challenge
vast

Flaws and
failings
show up
fast

Numbers
high
across the
card

Proof once
more
that golf is
hard.

Leon S. White
2/18/10

Filed Under: golf, golf humor, golf poetry, poetry, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Sunday Golf

February 15, 2010 by Leave a Comment

The New York Times headline read “Ban on Sunday Golf May Wreck A Club.” The date May 22, 1905. The story concerned membership loss at the North Valley Golf Club of Greenwich. Because it had been closed on Sundays since it began in 1900, 35 of its 50 members had resigned. The paper noted that “A resolution forbidding the use of the grounds Sunday was passed (in 1902) and several good churchmen joined, among them a clergyman.” But by 1905 the club was in dire straits.

In Scotland, in 1618, the official (royal) line, first voiced by King James VI, was that golf on the Sabbath was acceptable, so long as it was not during the times of service, because Sunday was the only day the great mass of people would have free to play. It was not a view shared by the Kirk [the Church of Scotland]. Indeed Sunday golf at St Andrews only began at all during the Second World War and is still not permitted on the Old Course, though this now has more to do with preserving the course rather than religious strictures.

From a Google search, it looks like today only a handful of golf courses in the U.S., Canada and Great Britain are still closed on Sundays.

A poem, “Sunday Golf,” in the August 1903 issue of “The Golfer” magazine provides a colorful perspective of an irreverent golf poet on Sunday play more than 100 years ago.

Sunday Golf

A Sabbath well spent brings a week of content,
And health for the work of tomorrow;
But a Sabbath profaned whatever be gained,
Is a certain forerunner of sorrow

***************************************

An excellent rule for the wise and the fool,
An object right worthy attainment;
But the point as you see, where we don’t quite agree,
Is the question, What is profanement?

When the Sabbath began, twas created for man,
In the Bible this clearly is stated;
But our Puritan throng think this must be all wrong,
The man was for the Sabbath created.

It makes a man smile that except for this isle,
There is nobody going to Heaven;
Yet, if some folks are right, ’tis the inference trite,
To which we’re remorselessly driven.

For you’ll nowhere else find people so strict of mind
In the matters of Sunday observance;
And an innocent game nowhere else meets with blame,
Or excites any social disturbance.

Then, aye, let us pray that there may come a day,
When the bitter dispute may be ended;
And Sunday employment in wholesale enjoyment,
Be no longer condemned but commended.

The poem was signed “Common Sense.”

Filed Under: golf, golf history, golf humor, golf poetry, humor, poetry, Scotland, sports poetry Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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