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Bob stood over his tee short on the 18th hole for what seemed like forever. He’d waggle, look down, look up, but never start his backswing.
Finally David, his playing partner, asked, “Why on Earth are you taking so long to make this shot?”
“My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse, and I want to make this shot a good one,” said Bob.
“Good Lord,” said David, “you haven’t got a chance of hitting her from here.”

A golfer hit his drive on the first hole 300 yards right down the middle. When it came down, however, it hit a sprinkler and the ball went sideways into the woods. He was angry, but he went into the woods and hit a very hard 2 iron which hit a tree and bounced back straight at him. It hit him in the temple and killed him.

He was at the Pearly Gates and St. Peter looked at the big book and said, “I see you were a golfer, is that correct?”

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

St. Peter then said, “Do you hit the ball a long way?”

The golfer replied, “You bet. After all, I got here in 2, didn’t I?”

Bob stood over his tee short on the 18th hole for what seemed like
forever. He’d waggle, look down, look up, but never start his backswing.
Finally David, his playing partner, asked, “Why on Earth are you taking
so long to make this shot?”

“My wife is up there watching me from the clubhouse, and I want to make this shot a good one,” said Bob.

“Good Lord,” said David, “you haven’t got a chance of hitting her from here.”

My wife told me it was about time that I learned to play golf . . . you know, golf . . . that’s the game where you chase a little ball all over the country when you are too old to chase women.

So, I went to see Mr. Jones and asked him if he would teach me how to play.

He said, “Sure, you’ve got balls don’t you?”

“Yes, but sometimes on cold mornings they are hard to find.”

“Bring them to the clubhouse tomorrow morning and we will tee off.”

“What’s tee off?”

“It’s a golf term and we have to tee off in front of the clubhouse.”

“Not for me,” I said. “You can tee off in front of the clubhouse if you want, but I’ll tee off behind the barn somewhere.”

“No, no, a tee is a little thing about the size of your finger.”

“Yeah, I’ve got one of those.”

“Well, you stick it in the ground and put your ball on top of it.”

“You play golf sitting down? I always thought you stood up and walked around.”

“You do, you’re standing up when you put your ball on the tee.”

Well folks, I thought that was stretching things a bit too far and I said so.

He said, “You’ve got a bag haven’t you?”

“Sure.”

“You’re balls are in it, aren’t they?”

“Of course,” I told him.

“Well, can’t you open your bag and take one out?”

“I suppose I could, but I’ll be damned if I am going to.”

“Don’t you have a zipper on your bag?”

“No, I am the old fashioned type.”

“Do you know how to hold your club?”

Well, after 65 years, I should have some sort of an idea and I told him so.

He said, “You take your club in both hands . . . ”

Well folks, I knew right then that he didn’t know what he was talking about.

Then he said, “Swing it over your shoulder . . .”

No, no, that’s not me at all. That’s my brother he’s talking about.

He asked, “How do your hold your club?”

And before I thought about it, I said, “With two fingers.”

He said that wasn’t right, got behind me, put two arms around me, and said for me to bend over and he would show me. Well, he couldn’t catch me there for nothing. I didn’t spend four years in the Navy for nothing.

He said, “You hit the ball with your club and it soars and soars. . .”

I could well imagine that.

“. . . and when you’re on the green . . .”

“What’s the green?”

“That’s where the hole is.”

“Sure you’re not color blind?”

“Then you take your putter in your hands. . .”

“What’s a putter?”

“That’s the smallest club made.”

“That’s what I got, a putter.”

“And with it, you put your ball into the hole.”

I corrected him, “You mean the putter.”

“No, the ball. The hole isn’t big enough for the ball and putter too.”

Well, I’ve seen holes big enough for a horse and wagon.

“Then,” he said, “after you finish with the first hole, you go on to the next 17.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t talking about me. After two holes I’m shot to hell.

“You mean you can’t make 18 holes in one day?”

“Hell no! It takes me 18 days to make one hole! Besides, how do I know when I am in the 18th hole?”

“The flag will go up!”

Well, golfing is not for me.

A couple met at Hilton Head and fell in love. They were discussing how they would continue the relationship after their vacations were over. “It’s only fair to warn you, Jody,” Bill said, “I’m a golf nut. I live, eat, sleep and breathe golf.”

“Well, since you’re being honest, so will I.” Jody said. “I’m a hooker.”

“I see.” he said. Then, brightening, he smiled. “It’s probably because you’re not keeping your wrists straight when you hit the ball.”



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