Golf Poem

In my hand I hold a ball

White and dimpled, and 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 choosing to play this stupid game

It rules my mind for hours on end

A fortune it has made me spend

It has made me curse and made me cry

And hate myself and want to die

It promises me a thing called par

If I 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 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 that the average golfer walks about 900 “miles” a year.

Another study found that golfers drink on average 22 gallons of alcohol a year.

This means that on average, golfers get about 41 miles to the gallon!