At a football game, the crowd
Stands up, thumps, and shrieks out loud.
At baseball games, they light up banners;
But with golf, one minds one's manners.
Place your ball upon the tee,
Pick your driver up, then Wheeee!
Let us watch the ball start soaring!
See us smile (with golf, no roaring).
Watch the hazard, mind the trap,
Check your iron, your grip, then whaaaap!
Great shot! You're upon the green!
(Soft applause. Not heard, just seen.)
We would like to yell our lungs out,
Cheer and scream our very tongues out.
This is golf, though, and its mode
Says fan decorum is the code.
Now the putt: You made a birdie!
Oooh, that putt was really purdy.
We'd have stomped with all our might,
But this is golf. It's not polite.
We follow fav'rites hole by hole,
We root for them with heart and soul.
But thanks to hackneyed social trappings,
All they hear is muted clappings.
Every athlete needs his fans;
The cheers, and, yes, the boos and pans.
But what with golfdom's protocol,
The patrons have no fun at all.