My friend was quite young
When he took up the game.
His life since that time
Has not been the same.
Each waking hour
He talked of the green,
Of the woods and the putters
And the irons that he’d seen.
Golf had so quickly
Become an obsession,
To miss just one game
Would cause him depression.
Then he had a problem,
They said was his heart.
He must change his life.
Was it too late to start?
His thoughts turned to heaven
And what he’d do there,
How could he play golf
Way up in the air?
It filled every thought
From morning ’til night.
He continuously told
All his friends of his plight.
They joked and they told him
Of a course down below,
Where you must play golf
With balls made of snow.
The game is so fast
You can’t call it playing.
It results in frustration
And one well known saying.
He couldn’t go there
He told his young wife,
So he started to plan
The change in his life.
The church down the street,
He’d give it a try,
Though it’s tough for a golfer,
That can’t tell a lie.
A Christian he’d be,
Their most faithful member,
In church every Sunday
And not just in December.
He’d put others first
In the things he would do.
He’d even let little
Old ladies play through.
He was sure he’d make heaven.
It only seemed fair,
So he asked Pastor John,
Were there courses up there?
John said, “I can find out,
Tonight when I pray.
I’ll tell you what God says
The very next day.”
All night, without sleep,
My friend tossed and turned.
Then he called Brother John
To see what he’d learned.
“I’ve good news and bad news,
” John told him right off.
“There’s a great course in heaven
Where you can play golf.”
Now he could grow old
With a goal in his sight.
He’d live a good life.
He’d do everything right.
Oh it would be great,
So happy and free.
“So give me the bad news,
How bad can it be?”
The preacher said sadly,
With much hesitation,
“God told me to tell you,
Of your reservation.
You must understand,
It’s God’s word not mine.
Your playing tomorrow,
You’ve a tee time at nine!”
I was an officer in the United States Air Force for twenty years. Somehow I was always promoted in rank, according to schedule, without ever playing a single game of golf. Maybe I was successful because, by not playing golf, I never beat a superior officer. At any rate, I spent twenty years of listening to game after game being rehashed on Monday mornings. Golf more than any other game can become an obsession; golfers are easy to pick on because there are so many of them. Here I turn an old joke into a poem which I hope my golfing friends will enjoy.
No matter how great heaven might seem to us, we are always a little hesitant about taking the trip. In Obsession I wonder which is appreciated more, the good news or the bad news?
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