The balrog fumed, his burning ember-like skin glowed redder as his anger increased. The heat from his enormous demonic body caused ripples in the surrounding air, making the giant creature seem more surreal than ever. With a furious movement of one arm, he caused his whip to crack loudly, adding to the echoes of his enraged roar. Smoke billowed from his nostrils and escaped in tiny tendrils from all over his red hot body. His huge tattered wings flapped, adding oxygen to his burning flesh. The heat and smoke increased.
"Chill, Bob. I can't see the flag now," said Sauron, standing patiently to one side of the angry balrog. "And I'm still penalizing you that stroke, no matter how much you complain about it. It clearly states in rulebook that you cannot clean your ball until you are on the green."
"ROARRR!""Geez, I thought I was bad," muttered Sauron under his breath.
"ROAR?!""Oh nothing. I think it's my shot, anyway." With that Sauron approached the small white ball sitting on the grassing field. "Fluffy, what club do you suggest?"
From behind Sauron, Grizlok the over-worked orc, lugging a bag of golf clubs and associated paraphernalia, approached his Dark Lord. He put the bag down, reached in and pulled out a club at random.
Sauron took the proffered club, paused a second and turned back to Grizlok. "Fluffy, I hardly think a putter is the right club, do you?" He bonked Grizlok on the head with the putter and reached in and took out the six iron.
The Dark Lord of Mordor stood over the ball, lined up his shot, wiggled his hips, took a practice swing, checked the wind, repositioned his grip, scratched his arse, wiggled his hips again, lined the shot again, checked the sun's position in the sky, took another practise swing, bent his knees a little more, adjusted his shirt by pulling at the sleeve, wiggled his hips some more, then drew back his club to finally hit the ball...
"cough roar..."
Sauron spun mid-swing and stared at the balrog standing innocently behind him. "Now look what you've done!" he yelled.
"Roar."
"Don't pretend it wasn't you, Bob!" Sauron fumed.
"Roar?""Oh really? Okay, we'll get you a drink after we finish this hole." Sauron returned to his stance. Lining up the shot, he wiggled his hips, etc, etc. With an almighty rush, he put his full weight into the swing. His club wrapped halfway around him on the backswing, and came rapidly down towards the ball.
The club hit the turf a good foot behind the ball, making a huge divot that flew up into the air and fell right on top of the untouched ball. Sauron followed through like a professional, almost falling over with the effort.
"Where did it go?! Where did it go?!" he asked anxiously.
"Roar...?""No, I didn't see it either," answered Sauron. "Fluffy? Did you see where my ball went?"
Grizlok looked at the freshly dug divot at Sauron's feet where he knew the ball was hidden from view. Casually he stepped forward and stood on the divot, pressing his weight onto the ball underneath.
"I think it went on the... green?" he answered cautiously. He didn't know the first thing about golf, but Grizlok was aware that his Lord was only happy when the ball reached this mysterious 'green'. To Grizlok, the green looked like more neatly trimmed elf-food, just like the elf-food he was standing on right now.
"Oh, excellent!" cried Sauron in joyous abandon. And he passed the six iron back to Grizlok and walked up the hill to the green.
Grizlok and the balrog walked behind. Looking up at the huge beast, Grizlok asked, "So what's your real name?"
"Roar."
"Really? Your actual name is Bob? That's weird. My name's Grizlok." And the orc offered his hand to the balrog.
They shook hands before Grizlok realised what he was doing. The heat he felt in his hand was like nothing he'd felt before. His searing hand sent a jolt of pain through his system.
"SON-OF-A-..!" he screamed in agony.
"Shhhhhhh!" admonished Sauron from ahead of them. "And give me that putter."
Grizlok muffled his screams of pain while the balrog chuckled beside him. "Very funny, Bob." Grizlok found the putter and handed it to Sauron.
"Now, where's my ball again?" asked the Dark Lord.
Regaining his composure, the orc surreptitiously produced a second golf ball from his borrowed tweed pants. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he actually like them. Oh my god, thought Grizlok to himself, what am I thinking?!
He dropped the ball behind him at the edge of the green, stood to one side and said, "Here it is, Lord Snookums!"
"Roar!?""No, no, it was here all along," lied Grizlok.
"ROAR!""Bob, Fluffy wouldn't lie. Now stand back and watch the master at work." With that, Sauron approached the ball, putter in hand. He again stood over the ball, lined the shot up, paused, stood back and held the putter up in the air, the ball and hole up lined behind it (no-one in the entire universe knows why golfers do that... ) stood back over the ball and gently tapped it.
The small white ball rolled lazily over the green, heading towards the hole. But it was quite clear it was going to miss the hole by at least six inches. While no-one was looking, Sauron slipped his hand into his pocket, where the One Ring waited within. He stuck a finger into it, and summoned its powers.
The ball suddenly changed course, rolled towards the hole, made a victory lap and plopped in. The orc and balrog looked on in disbelief, but Sauron jumped for joy.
"Yes!" cried the Dark Lord. "A birdie!"
"ROARRR!!!""Calm down, Bob. It was a good shot and you know it," said Sauron. But the balrog flew into the air on wings of fire. His clubs fell to the ground beneath him, burning and molten.
"I hope you know you forfeit the game!" yelled Sauron at the diminishing balrog, now a red glowing dot on the dark background of clouds. "Some creatures," he said quietly, shaking his head. "Fluffy, I think we need a drink. Let's head to the nineteenth."
Grizlok nodded, not knowing what the 'nineteenth' was, but glad to leave this weird green elf-food golf course behind. Before he knew it, he felt himself asking, "My Lord, who built this... 'course'?"
Sauron answered, "Oh, this is the Royal and Ancient Golf Course of Mordor, built by the Ent-Wives ages ago. Did you know the Ent-Wives used to just make gardens? Fortunately my predecessor, Morgoth, managed to convince them to turn their skills to the design and construction of sporting facilities..."
As Sauron rambled on and on, Grizlok smacked himself in the face. Me and my big mouth!, he thought.