Once upon a time a portly man with impressive jowls gave me a putting lesson. He told me to putt with my finger tips, to hold it easy-like and never...never hurry. He tapped me on the left shoulder and said emphatically “This must not rise, master!“ With that he allowed me to stroke a few with his putter, which was heavy and altogether too long. With a smile he placed his white cap on my head and like a stately archbishop (episcopalian of course) meandered to the bar to play his ukulele, and enjoy a few.
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