T'was the Night before FYMA '18

Ok, with just a little over a month until the Showdown in O-Town, the excitement is starting to set in. Our TD and I have built in some extras into this year’s FYMA Cup, only raising the anticipation level. Its winter in New England, the dark ages as we once knew. After resurfacing the rink to the tune of 8 degrees Fahrenheit followed by a few Irish coffees and with Christmas memories still fresh and I started thinking of South Florida and of FYMA Cup glory a mere 36 days away; the FYMA dozen came to mind.

Enjoy - ASS TD

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T’was the night before FYMA ‘18

T’was the first night of FYMA, and back for a showdown;

the Cuppers were stirring, as each rolled into O-town.

They come from afar; like British dominion of old,

the sun never sets on the FYMA cup fold.

The TD drove provisions from Pensacola with care;

in hopes that his fellow cuppers soon would be there.

The LBYs were nestled all snug in the fridge;

while Jameson & Makers were cracked for a smidge.

As G-Money diligently scribed handicaps for all;

this caused Vis to cry out a loud “Foul Ball!”

When Fratt showed up and caused such a clatter;

we all sprang from the hot tub to see what was the matter.

With paint and spackle both in hand;

He proclaimed, “Don’t worry fellas; this FYMA will be grand!”

Away to the first round we gradually progressed,

boozing our bags as we got dressed.

And TD whistled, and shouted, and call’d all by name:

“Now! Mudro, now! Chaser, now! PK, and guy from Ukraine,

“On! Chopper, on! Clarkie, on! Kinger and Sunshine;

Get your asses in the van to meet our tee time.

When, what to our wondering eyes should appear,

but a jolly ol Rivs sporting some brand-new golf gear.

A near dozen cuppers all crammed in the Van,

Soon to be realizing the TD’s grand plan.

Finally, where’s Kinger, G says, as we drive out of sight,

Clarkie says, “He’s in the recliner where he’s been all night”

Like a little old driver, so careful and slow;

G-Money made sure we all made the show.

The sun on the dew of the fresh cut grass;

mixed with last eve’s festivities, put Clarkie in morass.

A trip to the head, and a couple of back pills;

had Clarkie swinging big and putting for bills.

So out from the clubhouse, these cuppers they flew;

Wondering, “Does Fratt have enough balls to finish hole two?”

With Cola and Sailor J’s to lube him up;

Mudro was ready to make his run for the cup.

Swinging hard with all his might;

He continued to wonder off to the right.

G advised him to swing easy to avoid fore calls;

Mudro replied with a kind, “G, Suck Balls”!

As Chop bid Germany a short “Auf Wiedersehen”;

His handicap was shortened to nearly match Blaine

As the reigning champ, it’s his honor to tee last;

With all cuppers knowing, 5 groups will go passed.

Chaser traveled for a week from Guam’s distant land;

A much welcome relief from the threat of “rocket man”,

In his South Pacific paradise, his game should blossom;

But really his swing would better serve killing possum.

PK’s run at the cup is full of promise and hope;

But after a few late nights, the golf god’s say “nope!”

No matter, for he is a champ from the FYMA’s past;

Makers and man soup, is all that he asks.

After 5 years, we welcome our man from down under;

Or was it the Ukraine, we all still wonder.

His best was Co-champ with his FYMA Cup friend;

He has Aussie know-how to pull cactus from your end.

Always quick with a keg, that’s second to none;

Kinger looks at his cart and asks, “Is that a Cushman?”

A multi-year cupper, even though golf’s not his game;

Some Tito’s and poker will suit him the same.

Then comes Vis, all smiles and tan;

from his cherry assignment in aviator-land.

Our TD then went straight to his work;

Outdriving us all with a ‘steroid jerk’,

Showing true form, just like a seasoned pro;

He shanked his next shot and his club he did throw.

His FYMA dreams faded with that last shank;

As the rest of his golf game went in the tank.

Down but not out, he gave a great “Woohoo!”

even though round one is now all but through.

But we heard him exclaim, as G drove the van up

Happy FYMA to all, and to all “It’s your Cup!”