Monday, November 17, 2008


Following Hacks v. Hicks II, TAH resident poet J.J.J. Redick penned an ode to the glorious event. We asked J.J.J. to modify his lovely verse to reflect the result of yesterday’s competition.

The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Hacks' fourteen that day,
The score stood 13 to 5, with but one match left to play.
And then when Steve and Steve had all but crapped the bed,
A pall-like silence struck the Hacks assuming they were dead.

A straggling few got up to go drink a whiskey in deep despair.
The rest clung to that hope as sparse as GP’s hair.
They thought, "if only Blaze could but get a whack at that,
We'd put up even MORE money now, with Blaze up to bat."

But Flikeid preceded Petty, as did Dirt Callahan,
And the former was a hoodoo, while the latter was not da man.
So upon that stricken multitude, grim melancholy did play,
For there seemed but little chance that Blaze could save the day.

But J.R. and Burke pulled out a win, to the wonderment of all.
And Chainsaw Bierman tore the cover off the ball.
And when the dust had lifted, and men saw what had occurred,
There was Mad Dawg’s losing round still looking like a terd.

Then from the throats of Hacks there rose a lusty yell.
It rumbled past the river, and it rattled in the dell.
It pounded up the 18th fairway, and some how held the green,
For Blaze, mighty Blaze, was up to save his team.

There was ease in Blaze's manner as he stepped up to the tee,
Truth be told, he had a few and he was desperate to pee.
And when, responding to the cheers, he forced a meager smile.
A grad of Mike Wynn’s school, he was sure to drive a mile.

Nineteen eyes were upon him as he posted his wooden peg.
One Dill’s eyes weren’t working as he’d consumed a keg.
The Hicks stared in disdain, their hands upon their hips,
But defiance flashed in Blaze's eye, a sneer curled Blaze's lip.

And now the dimpled sphere went hurtling through the air,
And Blaze stood a-watching it in haughty grandeur there.
Away from the sturdy golfer the ball unheeded sped --
"That’s headed out-of-bounds,” said Blaze. “Oh, s%@#, I think I’m dead.”

From the Hackers sick of losing, there went up a muffled roar,
Who put those white stakes there, to the right a few feet more?
"Fly, fly, fly” shouted someone on the stand,
And it's likely they'd had heart attacks had not Blaze raised his hand.

With a smile of Christian charity, great Blaze's visage shone,
He’d crossed the creek towards the white stakes so many times his own.
He signaled Hacks to start moving, he knew where his orb flew,
But Hacks all chugged some whiskey not knowing what else to do.

"Sploosh" cried the wayward Pro-V as it landed in Hicks Brook.
And a scornful look hit Blaze realizing how he’d goofed.
It took one mighty bounce and was sleeping with the fish,
And Blaze soon realized he would not achieve his wish.

Oh, somewhere in this favored land the sun is shining bright.
The band is playing somewhere, and somewhere hearts are light.
And, somewhere Hacks are laughing, as they down a Guiness Stout,
But there is no joy in Hacksville - mighty Blazer has struck out.

(Photos by TAH International/AFP/AP/Petty/UPI/ESPN/FOX/C-SPAN Images)

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