by Hireko Technical Director Jeff Summitt
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the workshop
Not a single tool would be idle, not even a mop.
The headcovers were placed in a gift box with care,
In hopes that Uncle Nicholas’s new clubs would soon be there.
While his children were nestled all snug in their beds,
Larry rummaged for a ferrule for Uncle Nick’s heads.
With a cup of coffee and ketchup stain on his cap,
He took a sip and carefully removed each head’s bubble wrap.
When all of the sudden there arose such a clatter,
Larry sprang from the workbench to see what was the matter.
Away to the cabinet where he heard the crash,
Tore open the doors and found the ferrule she had stashed.
The two florescent light bulbs in the shop were aglow,
Gave the luster to his clubmaking project below.
When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,
But a large headed driver, eight shiny irons and more Hireko golf gear.
With only hours left before midnight, he had to be quick,
He had to remember all those clubmaking tricks.
More rapid than bogeys at his home course, out they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Weigh! now, Sort! now, Measure and Snip!
On, Sanding! On, Epoxy! on, on Ferrule and then Grip!
To the top of the workbench! no detail was too small!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away and install!”
As his clubmaking skills increased with each try,
The clubs meet without an obstacle, and set aside to dry.
So all those clubmaking Webinars he attended gave him a clue,
With a rack full of golf clubs, and his Uncle Nick’s too.
And then, in a twinkling, he took a look at the clock
In no time the fast setting epoxy was hard as a rock.
He drew each head to the belt sander as evident by the sound,
Down came the plastic material until the ferrules were perfectly round.
He was dressed in his shop apron, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were kept clean from the graphite and soot.
A bundle of grips he grabbed from a stack,
That he just received from his Fed Ex driver named Mack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! learned gripping from his cousin Harry!
This part of the project would be the least scary!
Clamped, aligned and tape peeled from the liner, solvent ready to flow.
After he finished, those grips were as white as the snow.
The stub of a grip he held tight in his fists,
He waggled each club with a flick of the wrists.
He tried the putter he made, even though it was a belly,
Then he shook and he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He placed labels on the shafts he had safe on a shelf,
And he laughed and wished he made the clubs for himself!
With wink of his eye and a twist of the head,
Soon he knew he had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but continued to finish his work,
And filled the box with shiny new clubs, then turned with a smirk.
And after wrapping the package and signing it while on his knee,
And giving a nod, he placed the package under the tree!
He sprang to his feet, to head off to slumber,
Into his bed, he dropped like lumber.
But he quietly exclaimed, ‘fore he turned off the light
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!”