En minnesvärd golfhistoria…

Arthur is a 90 years old active golfer.

He’s played golf every day since his retirement 25 years ago.  One day he arrives home looking downcast.

”That’s it,”  he tells his wife. ”I’m giving up golf. My eyesight has got
so bad. Once I’ve hit the ball, I can’t see where it went.”

His wife sympathizes. As they sit down, she has a suggestion: ”Why don’t you take my brother with you, and give it one more try.”

”That’s no good,” sighs Arthur. ”Your brother is a hundred and three. He can’t help.”

”He may be a hundred and three,” says the wife, ”but his eyesight is
perfect.” So the next day, Arthur heads off to the golf course with his brother-in-law.

He tees up, takes an almighty swing, and squints down the fairway.

He turns to the brother-in-law. ”Did you see the ball?”

”Of course I did!”, says the brother-in-law. ”I have perfect eyesight.”

”Where did it go?” asks Arthur.

”Can’t remember.”

Avec Salut de golfer Paul swinging in Provence

Golfers poem

In My Hand I Hold A Ball,
White And Dimpled, Rather Small.
Oh, How Bland It Does Appear,
This Harmless Looking Little Sphere.

By Its Size I Could Not Guess,
The Awesome Strength It Does Possess.
But Since I Fell Beneath Its Spell,
I’ve Wandered Through The Fires Of Hell.

My Life Has Not Been Quite The Same,
Since I Chose To Play This Stupid Game.
It Rules My Mind For Hours On End,
A Fortune It Has Made Me Spend.

It Has Made Me Yell, Curse And Cry,
I Hate Myself And Want To Die.
It Promises A Thing Called Par,
If I Can Hit It Straight And Far.

To Master Such A Tiny Ball,
Should Not Be Very Hard At All.
But My Desires The Ball Refuses,
And Does Exactly As It Chooses.

It Hooks And Slices, Dribbles And Dies,
And Even Disappears Before My Eyes.
Often It Will Have A Whim,
To Hit A Tree Or Take A Swim.

With Miles Of Grass On Which To Land,
It Finds A Tiny Patch Of Sand.
Then Has Me Offering Up My Soul,
If Only It Would Find The Hole.

It’s Made Me Whimper Like A Pup,
And Swear That I Will Give It Up.
And Take To Drink To Ease My Sorrow,
But The Ball Knows … I’ll Be Back Tomorrow.
***********

Stand proud you noble swingers of clubs and losers of balls…..
A recent study found the average golfer walks about 900 miles a year.
Another study found golfers drink, on average of 22 gallons of beer a year.
That means, on average, golfers get about 41 miles to the gallon..

Kind of makes you proud. Almost feel like a hybrid.