I don’t know what to say really.
Nine days to the biggest battle of our lives.
Either we heal as a team or we are going to crumble.
Hack by hack, shank by shank till we’re finished.
We are in the deep rough to the right of the 11th now, gentlemen believe me
and we can stay here and let the group behind through
or we can hack our way back into the light.
We can climb out of hell. One nobble at a time.
You know when you get to the turn, holes often get taken from you.
That’s, that’s part of a long enjoyable hut session.
But, you only learn that when you get in sight of the chequers.
You find out that life is just a game of inches.
So is Golf.
Because in either game, life or Golf the margin for error is so small.
I mean one half inch behind or in front of the ball and you don’t quite make contact.
One back swing too slow or too fast and you don’t quite reach the ladies’ tee.
The inches we need are everywhere around us.
They are in every duck-hooked drive, every topped approach, every yipped putt.
On this team, we lash for that inch.
On this team, we drink ourselves, and everyone around us into oblivion for that inch.
We BOLT with all our might for that inch.
Cause we know when we add up all those inches that’s going to make the difference
between RIPPING and CHUNKING
between HOLING and YIPPING.
I’ll tell you this in any match it is the guy who is willing
to have one more Kummel at lunch who is going to win that inch.
And I know if I am going to have to top up my bar card yet again
it is because, I am still willing to sip, and bolt for that inch
because that is what LASHING is.
The cry of “sorry partner” following a nasty duck-hook off the first tee after a few too many glasses of house red at lunch.
That’s a team, gentlemen and either we lash now, as a team,
or we will sober up as individuals.
That’s Golf guys. That’s all it is.
Now, whattaya gonna do?
Oh captain, your captain