Why I don't play golf

So hot, we went to the golf club for an early dinner. Eavesdropping as usual, I overheard a conversation which pretty much summed up why I don't play golf. The wife said to the husband: "Last Thursday I finally hit the perfect shot. When he saw it, your father said we had to analyze the divot to see how it happened. That was so helpful. We got down on our hands and knees and saw the direction of the divot and the depth and it really will make a huge difference when I try to hit another shot like that." I kid you not! Admit it, you golfers reading this are thinking, "Gee maybe that's not a bad idea." You are, I know you are!

The husband replied, "The key to golf is never to talk when you're playing a round. I believe silence is the key to a good game." The wife shut up. I always say I would rather go out on the first tee and set fire to money.

So there you have it, folks. Golf is a mystery, wrapped up in an enigma, enveloped in a riddle....or whatever that expression is. I figure it is pretty much unplayable. The problem is physics. The club is too long and the ball too small. You just can't hit the blessed thing. A cruel joke perpetrated on the rest of the world by the mischievious Scots.

The local paper today carried a facinating article about the first golf writer, Canadian Arnold Haultain, who wrote 'The Mystery of Golf', published in 1908. Apparently, it remains the definitive verdict on the game:

"Golf resolves itself into this: It is not a wrestle with bogey; it is not a struggle with your mortal foe; it is a physiological, psychological and moral fight with yourself."

In the end, Haultain in his quest to unravel golf's deepest mysteries, is forced to concede defeat:

"The ultimate analysis is hopeless," he concludes. "As hopeless as the ultimate analysis of that of metaphysics or that of the feminine heart."

So, that's why I don't play.