Have you noticed that, in sports, the balls with which we play tend to get smaller as we get older?
For example, at the age of 18, some play basketball. At 20, they’re playing football. When they hit 30, they head for the tennis courts and by 50, they downsize to a golf ball and haunt a golf course.
At least, that’s what happened to me, so golf is my game. My golfing days are long past, but the memories are still there, so stay with me as I share some of my golfing memories.
Now that the PGA has made Frisco its headquarters, I feel even more proud to say, “Golf is my game.”
My dad introduced me to the game of golf at the age of six or seven, when he took me with him to a very crude golf course at the Addison Rogers farm that was a little north of Frisco. He and some of his buddies had formed a foursome and, as I tagged along, I learned a little about the game — at least enough to want to play when I grew older.
But I couldn’t wait, so I decided to build my own three-hole miniature “golf course.” At that time, the street I lived on, Williams Avenue, ended at our house, leaving an empty space at the end of the street. That was the perfect spot for my course. My buddies and I cleared off enough space for our three greens and enjoyed putting day after day. We soon felt that we were officially golfers and our interest in the game grew from there.
Skipping past the years through school and World War II (when I had no time for golf), I got a job and finally had some leisure time.
My employer moved me eight times during my career and I managed to find a foursome to play with at most every place we lived.
I also attended a few PGA tournaments along the way where I got to see some of golf’s greatest play, like Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino. What an honor!
One of my biggest thrills came when we lived in Abilene and the PGA held its tournament there. A friend sponsored me to play in the pro-am – what a deal!
My wife and daughter accompanied me to the pre-tournament meeting the night before the game and had the pleasure of meeting singer Lee Greenwood. There, he sang for the first time in public his song God Bless The U.S.A. That just made our night.
Playing the next day with a pro was quite a thrill. He was one I had never heard of, but that didn’t matter — he was a pro! My son-in-law, Tommy, caddied for me and we both learned something about the game of golf. It was fun!
After I retired and moved back to Frisco, I found even more golf fun. The Frisco Chamber of Commerce was having its annual golf tournament and we always had a get-together the night before the tournament. By that time, my age was beginning to impact my game.
I wrote a poem called “The Golfer’s Lament.” It pretty well sums up my golfing days. (By the way, if you’re a singer, this can be sung to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas.)
“Well, my golfin’ days are over,”
said the duffer with a sob,
“My clubs are all a rustin’,
they just won’t do the job.”
said the duffer with a sob,
“My clubs are all a rustin’,
they just won’t do the job.”
My putter will not flutter,
my bag is all scarred up.
My driver’s lost its license,
and I can’t find the cup!
my bag is all scarred up.
My driver’s lost its license,
and I can’t find the cup!
My brassie’s done got tarnished,
my wedge is slightly bent.
My niblick’s reached retirement,
and my green fees – they’re all spent.
my wedge is slightly bent.
My niblick’s reached retirement,
and my green fees – they’re all spent.
My clubs are all a failin’,
their shafts ain’t stiff no more.
In fact, they’re just plain floppy,
and that don’t help me score.
their shafts ain’t stiff no more.
In fact, they’re just plain floppy,
and that don’t help me score.
Heck, my balls done lost their dimples
as smooth as they can be.
Most were fished from ponds and rivers
back in 1963.
as smooth as they can be.
Most were fished from ponds and rivers
back in 1963.
My tee time’s turned to TT time.
The pottys’r too far apart.
I can’t stoop to tee my ball,
so I’ll just ride the cart.
The pottys’r too far apart.
I can’t stoop to tee my ball,
so I’ll just ride the cart.
If doctors give prescriptions
to make us young again,
why not a golfer’s pill
to help us score and win?
to make us young again,
why not a golfer’s pill
to help us score and win?
And tho’ I never shot my age,
or made a hole-in-one,
I’ve had my share of pars and birds.
It’s been a barrel of fun!
or made a hole-in-one,
I’ve had my share of pars and birds.
It’s been a barrel of fun!
Yep, my golfin’ days are over,
my greens have all turned brown.
The eighteenth hole’s behind me,
and I’m headin’ back to town.
my greens have all turned brown.
The eighteenth hole’s behind me,
and I’m headin’ back to town.
So, if and when you need me,
don’t look on the course at all.
I’ll be in my recliner a playin’
with my – my great grand kids!
don’t look on the course at all.
I’ll be in my recliner a playin’
with my – my great grand kids!
Bob Warren is a local historian, former mayor of Frisco and a regular contributor to Frisco STYLE Magazine.
Have you noticed that, in sports, the balls with which we play tend to get smaller as we get older?
For example, at the age of 18, some play basketball. At 20, they’re playing football. When they hit 30, they head for the tennis courts and by 50, they downsize to a golf ball and haunt a golf course.
At least, that’s what happened to me, so golf is my game. My golfing days are long past, but the memories are still there, so stay with me as I share some of my golfing memories.
Now that the PGA has made Frisco its headquarters, I feel even more proud to say, “Golf is my game.”
My dad introduced me to the game of golf at the age of six or seven, when he took me with him to a very crude golf course at the Addison Rogers farm that was a little north of Frisco. He and some of his buddies had formed a foursome and, as I tagged along, I learned a little about the game — at least enough to want to play when I grew older.
But I couldn’t wait, so I decided to build my own three-hole miniature “golf course.” At that time, the street I lived on, Williams Avenue, ended at our house, leaving an empty space at the end of the street. That was the perfect spot for my course. My buddies and I cleared off enough space for our three greens and enjoyed putting day after day. We soon felt that we were officially golfers and our interest in the game grew from there.
Skipping past the years through school and World War II (when I had no time for golf), I got a job and finally had some leisure time.
My employer moved me eight times during my career and I managed to find a foursome to play with at most every place we lived.
I also attended a few PGA tournaments along the way where I got to see some of golf’s greatest play, like Arnold Palmer and Lee Trevino. What an honor!
One of my biggest thrills came when we lived in Abilene and the PGA held its tournament there. A friend sponsored me to play in the pro-am – what a deal!
My wife and daughter accompanied me to the pre-tournament meeting the night before the game and had the pleasure of meeting singer Lee Greenwood. There, he sang for the first time in public his song God Bless The U.S.A. That just made our night.
Playing the next day with a pro was quite a thrill. He was one I had never heard of, but that didn’t matter — he was a pro! My son-in-law, Tommy, caddied for me and we both learned something about the game of golf. It was fun!
After I retired and moved back to Frisco, I found even more golf fun. The Frisco Chamber of Commerce was having its annual golf tournament and we always had a get-together the night before the tournament. By that time, my age was beginning to impact my game.
I wrote a poem called “The Golfer’s Lament.” It pretty well sums up my golfing days. (By the way, if you’re a singer, this can be sung to the tune of The Yellow Rose of Texas.)
“Well, my golfin’ days are over,”
said the duffer with a sob,
“My clubs are all a rustin’,
they just won’t do the job.”
said the duffer with a sob,
“My clubs are all a rustin’,
they just won’t do the job.”
My putter will not flutter,
my bag is all scarred up.
My driver’s lost its license,
and I can’t find the cup!
my bag is all scarred up.
My driver’s lost its license,
and I can’t find the cup!
My brassie’s done got tarnished,
my wedge is slightly bent.
My niblick’s reached retirement,
and my green fees – they’re all spent.
my wedge is slightly bent.
My niblick’s reached retirement,
and my green fees – they’re all spent.
My clubs are all a failin’,
their shafts ain’t stiff no more.
In fact, they’re just plain floppy,
and that don’t help me score.
their shafts ain’t stiff no more.
In fact, they’re just plain floppy,
and that don’t help me score.
Heck, my balls done lost their dimples
as smooth as they can be.
Most were fished from ponds and rivers
back in 1963.
as smooth as they can be.
Most were fished from ponds and rivers
back in 1963.
My tee time’s turned to TT time.
The pottys’r too far apart.
I can’t stoop to tee my ball,
so I’ll just ride the cart.
The pottys’r too far apart.
I can’t stoop to tee my ball,
so I’ll just ride the cart.
If doctors give prescriptions
to make us young again,
why not a golfer’s pill
to help us score and win?
to make us young again,
why not a golfer’s pill
to help us score and win?
And tho’ I never shot my age,
or made a hole-in-one,
I’ve had my share of pars and birds.
It’s been a barrel of fun!
or made a hole-in-one,
I’ve had my share of pars and birds.
It’s been a barrel of fun!
Yep, my golfin’ days are over,
my greens have all turned brown.
The eighteenth hole’s behind me,
and I’m headin’ back to town.
my greens have all turned brown.
The eighteenth hole’s behind me,
and I’m headin’ back to town.
So, if and when you need me,
don’t look on the course at all.
I’ll be in my recliner a playin’
with my – my great grand kids!
don’t look on the course at all.
I’ll be in my recliner a playin’
with my – my great grand kids!
Bob Warren is a local historian, former mayor of Frisco and a regular contributor to Frisco STYLE Magazine.
