A golfing friend sent me this poem via email. Dont know where he got it or who wrote it (probably been around for awhile) but credit is hereby given to the author.


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 doth possess.
> And 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 it's game
> It rules my mind for hours on end
> And a fortune it has made me spend
>
> It has made me scream and cry
> 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, dies
> It disappears before my eyes
> Often it will act on whims
> To hide in trees, go for swims
>
> 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
> to stay my tears and ease my sorrow .....
> But the little ball knows I'll be back tomorrow!!!!

D*mn that stupid ball (IMG:http://www.tourspecgolf.com/forum/style_emoticons/TSG_Smileys/tsg_smilie_surprise.gif)

Lol. my precious!!!

This post has been edited by Spoon: Sep 2 2007, 11:55 PM