Judge, 1917-06-16 · page 12 of 28
Judge — June 16, 1917 — page 12: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains three humorous pieces satirizing golf culture in early 20th-century America: **"How to Play Golf"** (top left cartoon and article by Don Herold): Mocks the obsessive dedication golfers devote to the sport. The cartoon shows a man telling his lawyer he's abandoning his wife for golf. Herold's article absurdly elaborates this devotion, describing golf as requiring you to appoint an estate administrator before playing—joking that the sport essentially consumes one's entire life. The elaborate equipment descriptions ("caddy-killer golf sack," "periscope") parody the pretentious, excessive gear wealthy golfers accumulated. **"Parodies of the Fair Green"** (right side): A mock-religious poem parodying golf's quasi-spiritual importance to its devotees, imagining playing golf in the afterlife across celestial bodies—further satirizing how Americans elevated the sport to religious significance. **"Another Good Joke Gone Wrong"** (bottom): A brief exchange about German dancing and humor, unrelated to golf. The overall message: Golf was consuming American leisure time and resources to absurd degrees.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
MISS STUART CALL MY LAWYER | WANT HIM TO SEE MY WIFE I'MGOING TO TAKE LPGOLF HOW TO PLAY GOLF By DON HEROLD AVING decided to give up your life to chronic golf, y must place your business in good hands, appoint an administrator for your estate, and then purchase your costume and your apparatus. Early in your career as a golfer, you must decide whether you are going to be a practical or fancy golfer. If you are going to be a practical golfer, you can wear any old clothes you happen to have and your outfit need consi only of a market basket in which to carry the ball from one hole to another. When you come to a hole, get down on your hands and knees and drop the ball into the hole just as if you were setting out begonia bult If you wish to be a fancy,or philosophic and_histrionic golfer, you will need more elaborate paraphernalia. You must get knickers by Lady Duff Gordan, silver plated golf prongs, a lead-loaded, reinforced caddy-killer golf sack, and a retinue of caddies or “searchers.” And if you want to go into the game for all it is worth, you must get also a periscope, a garden a vacuum cleaner and a pet ferret. These are for lo- cating and recovering the ball when you bat it out of the diamonds. The game is played as follows: You first fix firmly in your mind the location of the bar. Keep this in your mind the whole afternoon, especially during periods of depression, as your final goal and destination. Remember, golf is a psychological game. Then—enter the golf lot. Prop the ball up off the earth six or eight inches with a double hand- ful of sand. Then—smack it on the nose with your driving pick, and immediately shut your eyes. Keep your eyes shut until the ball has had plenty of time to hide. Then—tell all of your caddies to go someplace and sit down behind a bush until you are ready for them again. Take your pet ferret out of its cage and gather up your clubs and start out on the golf hunt Hunt the ball until half-past‘six. Then return to the club house and take internal and ex- ternal shower baths. [Note: For the practical golfer (as in paragraph 3) there has just been placed on the market a golf-funnel or focuser. With this, the ball may be poured into the hole without any danger of its escaping into the adjacent underbrush. Our Languishing Literature European—Does America do anything to develop her young poets? American—No, our poets are borne, not made. PARODIES OF THE FAIR GREEN THE FINAL MATCH By F. GREGORY HARTSWICK HEN my clubs shall be laid aside for good, and my Earthly golf shall cease, If I have played the Game aright I shall rest awhile in peace Till, when I hear the Trumpet sound on the Last Great Tourney- day With a bagful of comets on my back I shall hie me forth to play. With the Bowman stout for a Caddie-boy, my Comet-clubs to bear, And Andromeda to call “Good luck!” from her far-off golden chair I shall place one foot on Mercury, the other foot on Mars, And tee the Earth on Jupiter, and drive it through the stars! And large through Space I'll take my course, through infinite iry seas, With the Southern Cross as a guide-flag as I loft for the Plei- ades; I shall not fear, though the Milky Way run swift and white between— I shall pitch a million miles or more where the Pole-Star marks the green The Northern Lights shall cease their sport my final shot to view; The Dipper’s bow] shall be the hole, and the putt run straight and true And the Last Least Gods shall cheer my play, and the Less Gods grin delight, And the Great 1s welcome me One of Them, if I played the Game aright! Another Good Joke Gone Wrong Joe Kricter—1 wonder if I couldn't write some kind of a joke that they ought to intern the girl who always led the germans at dancing parties? There's an idea that has possi- bilities. Mrs, Joe Krieter—No, my dear. a-days would know what you meant by None of our dancers now- “german, tae trencles at | the Batlefrone For the first time in his life Binks succeeds in picking a winning number at a lottery. Ccomicbooks.com