A poem about golf, monsters and Padraig Harrington
St. Padraig and The Monster
Though Oakland Hills is fair and green
There lurks a fearsome peril there.
A terror sleeps, though now unseen,
It wakens soon from evil dreams,
With slavering jaws and talons keen.
Brave heroes would its claws ensnare
To tear asunder those who dare
And feast upon their dying screams.
For decades did its legend grow,
More terrible each time the tales,
The bane of golfers high and low
Its vicious, terrifying blow
Courageous valor overthrows.
The Monster rules these hills and dales!
No blade can penetrate its scales.
Defeat and death its foes shall know.
And so alarums far and wide
Throughout the land did peal and ring.
“Oh whither can the people fly?
From this foul beast we cannot hide.
We beg some brave heart, turn the tide!
Let this foul creature feel the sting,
Of speeding arrow, sword and sling,
Let no more pretty widows cry.
“Oh great kings, you must set us free,
The Monster wakes to soon hold sway!
Sir Tiger can’t, he hurt his knee,
He’s far away across the sea
Aboard a yacht called “Privacy.”
Bright silver will we give away,
And fame beyond your dying day.
Please save us!” rang their frightened plea.
So mighty knights from far and near
Responded to the desperate call.
Forsaking all that they hold dear,
With courage would they conquer fear
And boldly face The Monster’s leer.
“On bended knee the beast will crawl,
And songs shall celebrate its fall!
Henceforth, to never reappear.”
But few among them knew their plight,
Just one remained keenly aware.
St. Padraig, clothed in lilywhite
And gauntlets shimmering samite
His sword and shield gleaming bright
Possessed of fearsome icy stare
(A basilisk would fear his glare!) ,
He knew too well The Monster’s might.
Still others brave and bold arrived
Like Phil, Vijay, J.B. and Boo
For Wanamaker’s cup they’d strive
And willingly they’d risk their lives
And terrify forsaken wives
That stayed behind, unable to
Affect the fray and ballyhoo,
Imploring them, “Return alive.”
Ben Curtis pledged he would proceed
To liberate our haunted glen.
No silver cup does Curtis need,
His honest spirit knows no greed,
Fair Candace spurs each noble deed.
An altruistic gentleman
And valiant, kind heart: that’s our Ben.
He’ll die with honor or succeed.
Garcia - brazen -stood up then,
His armor deepest sable black.
“I shall succeed, where Phil or Ben
or Padraig would all fail again.
I ain’t no stinkin’ T.C. Chen!
The Monster will not see my back,
I’m longing to face its attack
And be a titan among men.”
That night a haunted blood-red moon
A burning crescent in the sky
Illuminated dale and dune
In horrifying crimson hue
Portending death for me and you.
“This omen is an evil sign!
The Monster comes! Its time is nigh,”
They fretted. “He will be here soon.”
And then a thunderous, fatal knell
Roared out and rent the darkened sky.
A shadow grew, and midnight fell,
And from the blackest pit of Hell
The Monster flew into the dell.
“No enemy escapes my eye
Each puny mortal fool shall die!
My darkness no one can dispel!”
The tramp of doom, its massive stride,
Its wings a mighty hurricane,
Its tail smote the mountainside,
The trees fell flat, the rivers dried
And craven-hearted dotards cried
"It's Bobby Jones and Crenshaw's Bane!
Flee him! Your courage is in vain.”
The cowards shouted, terrified.
So many brave were felled that day,
Like Vijay, Boo, J.B. and Phil
The Monster’s malice did hold sway,
And even sunshine he dismayed.
We saw no single golden ray,
In glade, in valley, or on hill.
But though The Monster ate its fill,
Brave deeds my hand can still portray
Amidst the tumult, Ben arose,
Undaunted by the creature’s ire.
His cry “For Candace!” boldly rose,
“This tyranny we shall depose.”
And Sergio joined in, raining blows.
But then The Monster’s threat most dire,
Incinerating dragon-fire,
Encircled and engulfed its foes.
And by those flames stoked deep in Hell
Both heroes’ courage was laid low.
The beast unleashed a victory yell
Which raged and rumbled through the dell.
All cowered at the deathly knell.
But then – Behold! – a light did glow.
And through the gloom, began to grow
St. Padraig dared to break the spell.
His shield thrust aside the flame.
He feared no fire, doom, or dread.
Its sword-like teeth he overcame
And at its wicked, black heart aimed
His blade. “For Ireland!” he exclaimed
and smote the foul beast’s vile head.
The Monster, bloodied, turned and fled.
And thus was Oakland Hills reclaimed.
From frozen north to warm southland
Rejoicing voices sing out now.
“St. Padraig, Vorpal sword in hand,
No Jabberwocky could withstand!
He brought us peace throughout the land.”
So on St. Padraig’s noble brow
Three Silmarils they did endow
And Starlight rings to grace his hand.
St. Padraig then did speak in turn
These humble words he did allow:
“If once again its breath should burn,
The Monster’s specter you discern
Or fear or darkness your hearts learn,
If that foul creature rise somehow
I pledge to you my solemn vow:
Just call for me, I shall return.”
