Last year Declan Quinn, of Bray, Co Wicklow, earned the title of Bard of the Golf Masters (and a polo shirt) when he sent us a moving poem about his useless teams and their failure to get him a mention on either the weekly or overall leaderboards, even once.

Imagine our surprise, then, when we spotted him in seventh place this week. We rang him on Tuesday to give him the good news, and once again he was moved to verse (for which is he is demanding a fourball in Mount Juliet - negotiations are continuing).

"St Paddy's Day was over, I was sitting in the chair/ The shamrock was all wilted, the telly but a stare/ When I heard the sound of ringing, ah, that bloomin' phone again/ Sure I didn't realise that the caller was a friend.

"Ye see their name was Golf Masters, from the Irish Times/ And when I took the call, sure the stars were in my eyes/ For I thought that they'd rung me with good news and lots of cheer/ A fourball in Mount Juliet, or then grand to spend right here.

"But alas to my disappointment, this was not the case/ For they rang not to offer but to ask in its place/ Are you the same Poet Laureate from last year's Golfing Games/ 'Cause if you are we'd appreciate if you'd do the same again.

"So here I am with pen in hand, and scratching the old head/ They've put me under pressure to compose and write instead/ But Irish Times, on this occasion, don't come back to me with a Golf Masters T-shirt, a thank you but no Tee/ I expect something different, a winner's prize you see/ A fourball in Mount Juliet, a weekend in gay Paree/ My better half has asked me, "What's in it for me?/ But if I can't swing it for myself, she won't get any glee/ (Remember; a Poet and a Scholar deserves a fairly decent fee).

"I'll say goodbye to all of you and hope to hear real soon/ The news that I've been waiting for and prize to follow too/ And maybe in the next few months my teams will prove me wrong/ And scoop that prize, the big one, and then I'll have some fun."