From “The Golfer”
August 1903
Being a Toast at a Golfers’ Dinner
By William Shaw
Mr. Chairman, and Gentlemen:
“In spring a young man’s fancy fondly turns to thoughts of love. That may be with the fancy of the ordinary young man – the young man who does not golf. But in the spring the fancy of the young golfer turns fondly – ah! how fondly! – to thoughts of golf, and it is only when his clubs are oiled and laid on the shelf that he allows his thoughts to turn to love. With some I know, love and golf are synonymous – go, so to speak, hand in hand, but if those men make as poor lovers as they do golfers, they must stand as little chance of winning a fair devotee to the game as they do of winning the Scratch Medal.
Though there are probably as many matches made on the links as there are marriages made in Heaven: though many a man has taken a fair partner for a foursome and kept her through life; yet the two games should not be played together. Ye cannot serve St. Andrews and Cupid at the same time.
No, Sir, to some these remarks may appear irreverent, and out of place in proposing the present toast. But are they? Tonight we call no man brother who is not a fellow golfer. Tonight, the lady we toast is the Lady of the Links, and the Lady of the Links is as good a golfer as her brother, and loves her game better than herself. She would rather meet us on the links and be beat at golf than win an easy victory over a tyro in the game of love; and compared with her, which of us is not a tyro in the game of love? Golf is a royal and ancient sport, Sir, but woman was a medal winner in the game of love before golf was thought of.
We all love the ladies (interruption from the audience – “sometimes!”), as my stymied friend says, “sometimes.” I wonder, Sir, to what we owe that qualification of his love for the ladies? Does some bad beating at the hands of a fair player still rankle in his golfing soul? Or is it merely a vision he has conjured up of a pair of beginners, immaculate in their piqué and resplendent in their red coats and feathers, attended by a retinue of caddies and tracked by a double line of trenches, strolling along between him and hole, the sun touching the horizon, the game all even and three holes to go?
There is a lady who has a claim on our affections – the one we tell our tale to. I mean the patient, sympathetic, and long suffering girl whom we love to mystify with a volley of golf expressions, and who listens with glistening eyes to the story of the phenomenal drive. Is it not she who spurs us to nobler efforts, and assures us that she knows we “can beat him anyway?” She is a girl who represents a lot of love, and happy is the golfer who gets her.
But, Sir, of all the girls a golfer loves – the one who is enshrined most firmly in his heart is the girl who will take a fair handicap and a stiff beating. So, fill your glasses and we’ll drink to her – the girl who’s far and sure. The best of partners, the most generous of opponents. Gentlemen, I give you the ladies! (All standing.) The ladies! God bless ’em.