Twas the Night Before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house-not a creature was stirring-not even an LIV mouse.
The children were nested all snng in their beds, while visions of pizza at Topgolf danced in their heads.
And mamma in her visor, and in my Pinehurst No. 2 cap, had just settled down for a long winter’s nap.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed clutching my 3 Wood to see what might be the matter. Away to the window, I flew like a flash, recalling the wonderful contact of today’s incredible smash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow, shined the light of the brilliance of my 70 ft. putt on No. 11 in tow. When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a electric sleigh, driven by Elon Musk with Shivas Irons in the rear. It was quite a sight to see-an electric vehicle delivering Christmas glee. There were other characters on this transport in flight as I would come to know them as PGA Rules Officials coming to referee.
Shivas is quixotic and unsure of his delivery stick, I knew by his hip turn it could not be St. Nick. Musk and the officials were deadpan and tame as Shivas whistled and call them by name.
Now Harriet, Now Beatrice, Now Penny, Now Bruce, On Rory and you too “Mush” deliver these new golf balls with a spirited rush. The world cannot wait for these balls to arrive as it is all important that the game survive. And don’t forget the electronic devices that are required for those yardage books green reading, without those measurements, the players will take a greenside beating.
As the wind blows before the gales begin, when they meet with an obstacle, mount to get that bag in. Up to the chimneys they flew with the cart full of golf stuff-drivers, hybrids, irons to get them out of the rough.
And then in a twinkling, I heard on the roof, the prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I contemplated my next round at Cape Kidnappers in New Zealand, down the chimney came Shivas Irons, as if he were the conductor of a brand new band.
He was dressed in the usual plus fours, with his bowler hat in his gray flowing beard. His clothes were all tattered as if they had been smeared.
A bundle of golf clubs and new golf balls were flung on his back; he looked like Bryson DeChambeau on the attack.
His eyes-brightened by flashbacks of thunderous tee shots twinkled with glee, his dimples quite passionate. His cheeks were rosy and bright, his nose was a bit of an oversight. His mouth was taut and doughty; his beard coiffed and neat as a hot toddy.
He had the stump of a pipe which resembled Old Tom Morris, which he held tight in his jaw. Smoke from the pipe circled in the night of raw. He had the physique of a mature Tiger Woods and the confidence to recover with a case of the coulds.
He was svelte and ready for the 18 holes at Burningbush Country Club with the stern look of a professional. I was in awe as I saw him as if he was teeing off at Congressional. A wink of his eye and a twist of his head gave me the feeling that perhaps I might great golf rounds ahead.
He said nothing as he went into the bag and filled all the stockings with the new dumbed down golf balls with a note of apology from the gods of golf-what a drag. He also add the new golf reading rules and related devices with a tear of sadness of all the commotion. It’s like playing in Florida without sun tan lotion.
Completing his work, he sprang into the vehicle. Musk motioned that the vehicle’s batteries needed to be recharged and Shivas summoned the hybrid sleigh to discharge. The hybrid had been developed by Exxon this year and the world could hope that Shivas could avoid wind shear. The entourage entered the sleigh leaving Musk behind to complete the charge–this was not the time to need the garage. And away they all left like the whoosh of a DeChambeau drive and I heard Shivas exclaim as the caravan went live.
Merry Christmas to All and to All a Good Night