A Visit From Brandt, with apologies to EAP
Once upon a round most dreary, while I trudged most weak and weary,
Over many a thinking of YouTube golfers' lore,
While I hacked it, sadly lacked it, suddenly there came a tappet,
As of some gentle rapper, rapped upon my mental door.
`'Tis some figment,' I muttered, `of a putting nightmare -
Only this, and nothing more.'
Presently my will grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Golfer Sprite,' said I, 'truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was chipping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my mental door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you' - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams every golfer feared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only phrase there spoken were the whispered words, `One Putt More!'
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, `One Putt More!'
Merely this and nothing more.
Open here I flung my hopeful mind, when, with brightly a flash to blind,
In there stepped the apparition of golfer Brandt the Snedeker.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or God, perched above my mental door -
Perched upon a bust of Nicklaus just above my doubtful door -
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this visage beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,
`Though thy face be shorn and shaven, thou,' I said, `art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient player wandering from the far most shore -
Tell me what thy lordly game is on the Night's Plutonian shore!'
Quoth the Snedeker, `One Putt More.'
But Old Brandt, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That these words, as if his soul in that phrase he did outpour.
Nothing further would he utter - not an ancient breeze did him flutter -
Till I could scarce more than mutter `Other friends have shown before -
On the morrow he will leave me, as my dreams have flown before.'
Then did the Brandtster say, `One Putt More.'
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
`Doubtless,' said I, `what he utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of "Never-never three putt more."
But the Brandt still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a mental arm chair, sat in front of him with open mental door;
Then, upon the thinking sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous Brandt of yore -
What this grinning, gainly, ghostly, and spritely player of yore
Meant in stating `One Putt More.'
'Tell me, old wise one,' I cried, 'let your secret be my guide!'
'I'd love to one putt more, but lack the very means to score!'
Brandt sat on that bust, and smiled a bit. Please, I thought, pass on that trust!
Then he spoke with words so fine, 'First you must find the line.'
'Without that you'll never score and thus of course, three putt more.'
'Wait, wait, there must be more, to make my one putts evermore?'
'With line in hand,' he said to me, 'Never be yee melancholy,
for happiness and calm of mind, is much required the hole to find.'
'What? just find the line and then prepare a happy mind?'
'There lacks but one more element, or your putt will not be heaven sent,
'with your hands the putter atop, give the ball a fearsome pop.'
'Make the ball a hurried hare, and over break do not despair.'
He nodded then his message tendered, now just mine to be remembered.
He lifted head just one more time, before he vanished from my mind.
Quoth the Snedeker, 'One putt more.'
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