I think that I shall never see a hazard rougher than an tree; A tree o'er which my ball must fly if on the green it is to lie. A tree which stands that green to guard, and makes the shot extremely hard; A tree whose leafy arms extend to kill the six iron shot I send. A tree that stands in silence there, while angry golfers rave and swear. Irons were made for fools like me who cannot ever miss a tree.
