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

By It's 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, 22 gallons of alcohol  a 
year. 

That means, on 
average, golfers get  about  41 miles to the  gallon. 


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

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