"Who Taught Caddies to Count?" or "A Burnt Golfer Fears the Child" Ogden Nash
I never beheld you. O pawky Scot,
And I only guess your name,
Who first propounded the popular rot
That golf is a humbling game.
You putted perhaps with a mutton bone,
And hammered a gutty ball;
But I think you sat ina bar alone,
And never played at all.
Ye hae spoken a braw bricht mouthfu', Jamie,
Ye didna ken ye erred;
Ye're richt that golf is a something gamie,
But humble is not the word.
Try arrogant, insolent, supercilious,
And if invention fades,
Add uppity, hoity-toity, bilious,
And double them all in spades.
Oh pride of rank is a fearsome thing,
And pride of riches a bore;
But both of them bow on lea and ling
To the Prussian pride of score.
Better the beggars with fleas to scratch
Then the unassuming dub
Trying to pick up a Sunday match
In the locker room of the club.