The tale of a brilliant and plucky Liverpool boy defying the play of Titans
O ‘twas a most remarkable and memorable golfing game
To astound our host of most adoring admirers we stood tall
When three brave souls whose hearts are mainly free of blame
Manly struck and strove to welly hence the lightning ball.
Lightheartedly they said that by far the weakest of the three
Should gratefully accept their lordly grant of one stroke per hole
And so began a struggle waged by Titans, not including me
Clashing mighty shot answering subtle touch towards the flaggy pole.
First Southampton, with his whippy wrists and wrangled what’s-its
Pushed on the pace with thund’rous power against Glaswegian guile
Until the tables turned with rapier precision as Glasgow pits
His cunning chips and chops with many a pleasant curse awhile.
And all along the unheralded, the unbeloved , lurking in the sand
Lashed, cursed and clouted the sandy orb to notch some ghastly scores
Until, like a scented, sensuous sprite the scouser spirit came upon the land
Bursting forth to ghost unseen, reaping from heavenly watchers their applause.
The burnished two, handshaking in victory and defeat, chattering their joy
While yet the third had still not played his final putt to shake the universe
And all a’sudden their merry japes fell silent on their conquering ploy
As the unregarded, with silky skill rolled in the merry orb to justify this verse.
O what a wail struck up from Glaswegian heart, a victory snatched away
Southampton lived to strive again as Liverpool snatched the final play!