Once upon her links so eerie, golfers wandered broke and teary,
Over hazards deftly placed by Colt and Morris years before,
Whilst I watched their desperate slapping, Muirfield kept the ego’s snapping,
All the while the golf gods clapping, clapping at the grizzly score;
Stop the carnage ! Someone uttered, as another man yelled fore !
Just a wish and nothing more.

Hard and fast with winds a gusting, never easing never trusting,
A true links test that lost for decades, mother nature did restore,    
Balls rolled out into the heather, aided by the drying weather,
Greens and fairways ran together, making par a vaunted chore;
Players cursed and left bemoaning, another painful cry of fore !
Echoed on the Firth of Forth.

Then appeared one much stronger, piercing blows sent much longer,
Suddenly the crowd had found a single player to adore,
British hopes once left asunder, Westwood joined the UK’s thunder,
A 2 shot lead left all to wonder, will he finally bust the door ?
A country and a man were left to lay a night bereft of snore,
Giddy in their proud rapport.

Spill Fickelton the afterthought, he still reeling still distraught,
Little chance was given to the man still lying on the floor,
Five parings back no expectations, haunted by miscalculations,
A U.S. Open celebration, cruelly hijacked weeks before;
Forgotten like a tee from pocket casually thrown into a drawer,
Underdog to Ryan Moore.    

And then the mystery so uncertain, opened was the final curtain,
Promising to thrill while golfers hacked away in bloody gore,
Left amazed at shots so errant, swings broken, once inherent,
Trained to think beyond apparent, targets asking for sure bore;
Shots ballooned and players cursed while aiming at the false décor,
Sucker pins and nothing more.

Tiger deftly stalked East Lothian, with a focus near cyclopean,
Striving to regain the status that had left him years before,
Placed to pounce or so it seemed, flaunting chance with gameplan schemed,
Finally time to be redeemed, emotions waited to outpour;  
Swagger lacking never could he unleash that familiar roar,
Fate remained a coquette whore.

A Sunday full of many leading, all were cut and all were bleeding,
Who would summon strength and wisdom captured in a bygone war ?  
Westwood and Cabrera crumbled, Moore, Mahan, Johnson bumbled,
Scott and Stenson also stumbled, bodies lined the Muirfield shore;
Cloaked in daylight on the links a man so easy to ignore,
Would he be a man of lore ?

Nine holes left and somehow fighting, saving putts creating lightning,
Out of nowhere birdies fell as if by hidden hand of Thor,
No one saw the train a coming, unprepared for such a drumming,
Shocked and beaten all succumbing, humbled down through shaken core;
Lefty had a reputation that he needed to restore,
That he did and so much more.

Left alone to hoist the Claret, gained by skill and gained by merit,
Open Champion once were words this man had never dared implore,      
Now full circle came misfortune, this time in a new contortion,
Legend was the latest portion, served with praises in galore;
Spirit pushed Phil Mickelson up to the heights that he would soar,
Open Champion evermore.

©  Anguis Darrat  2013