Category: sports

A man was playing put put golf with his friends as his cell
phone was ringing. He answers the phone and hears his fathers
voice., In the mist of running around and walking, the man was
breathing heavy. His father said “Hey son, what you doing?” the
man said., “Dad I’m put puting with some of my friends, but
everything is going wrong…”
His father then assumes that his son is having sex and says
“What happened, couldn’t find the whole?” his son says.,” It’s
not that I can’t find the whole, it’s sitting right in front of
my dirty balls, but since the wholes are too rugged, it won’t go
in.”

A guy’s been trying to teach his wife to golf, but he’s not having much success. He decides to get her some pro lessons at his club. She shows up for the lesson, and the pro says “Let’s see your swing”.

she takes a swipe at it, and it’s not too bad.

“OK, let’s see you tee-off one time”, and tees up a ball for her.

She swings, and it’s a 125 yard slice.

“Lemme see that again”.

He tees up another ball for her, she hits it, and same thing- slice right. The pro thinks a bit, and says “I think it’s your grip; it may be too firm”.

He tees up another ball, saying “Tell you what. Try holding the club just like you’d hold your husband’s “member”.

She swings again, and this time it’s 200+ yards straight down the middle!

“Thats much better. Now, take the club out of your mouth and hold it like this…”

What does David Beckham and a box of forever rosse have in common?

They both cum in a posh box.

I was playing golf with my doctor friend one day.
He ALWAYS hit his drives right down the middle of the fairway.
My problem was that I ALWAYS hooked my ball completely off the fairway.

I asked him for help, and he offered to give me a physical to see if he could determine the problem.

Sure enough, he said that I had three times the “normal length” of the average male, which caused an anomaly in my swing that caused me to hook.

I asked him to help me, and he agreed to do surgery — provided that I didn’t play golf for four weeks. I agreed. Golf is just that important to me.

Four weeks later, new body and all, I teed off on the first hole and drove the ball 270 yards right down the middle. Feeling elated, I thanked the doctor.

Then I asked him what had become of the “rest” of me.

He just smiled, teed his ball, then hit it…
and watched it duck hook two fairways away…

1. Look at the size of his putter

2. Oh shit my shafts all bent

3. You really whacked the hell outta that sucker

4. After 18 holes I can barely walk

5. My hands are so sweaty I can’t get a good grip

6. Lift your head and spread your legs

7. You have a nice stroke, but your follow through leaves a lot to be
desired

8. Just turn your back and drop it

9. Hold up… I’ve got to wash my balls

10. Damn, I missed the hole again

A retiree was given a set of golf clubs by his co-workers. Thinking he’d try
the game, he asked the local pro for lessons, explaining that he knew nothing
whatever of the game. The pro showed him the stance and swing, then said, “Just
hit the ball toward the flag on the first green.”

The novice teed up and smacked the ball straight down the fairway and onto the
green, where it stopped inches from the hole.

“Now what?” the fellow asked the speechless pro.

After he was able to speak again the pro finally said, “Uh . . . you’re
supposed to hit the ball into the cup.”

“Oh great! NOW you tell me,” said the beginner in a disgusted tone.

Skyline Golf Club
Memo to all members!
Re: The admission of women to the club.

Since the admission of women to the club, members are asked to obey the
following rules.

1. Ladies are prohibited from touching the gentlemen’s balls either with hands
or club.

2. Players are requested to remain silent during the short strokes.

3. All players with partners are requested to come together. When the lady
partner comes first, the gentleman must not delay his strokes but continue
playing.

4. In cases where a long position is impossible, the players may so choose a
new position.

5. Players deciding on a new lay must start at least a club’s length from the
hole.

6. Members are requested to stay out of any hole, showing signs of recent
repair or undergoing monthly overhaul until the red flag has been lifted.

7. All holes must be kept clean at all times.

8. Members are also urged to use reasonable precautions at all times as the
Management cannot be held responsible for balls lost in the bushes around the
holes.

Q: What do you call two nuns and a blonde together?
A: Two tight ends and a wide receiver.

When you’re 47 years old, you sometimes hear a small voice inside you that says: “Just because you’ve reached middle age, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take on new challenges and seek new adventures. You get only one ride on this crazy carousel we call life, and by golly you should make the most of it.”

This is the voice of Satan.

I know this because recently, on a mountain in Idaho, I listened to this voice, and as a result my body feels as though it has been used as a trampoline by the Budweiser Clydesdales.

I am currently on an all-painkiller diet. “I’ll have a black coffee and 250 Advil tablets” is a typical breakfast order for me these days.

This is because I went snowboarding.

For those of you who, for whatever reason, such as a will to live, do not participate in downhill winter sports, I should explain that snowboarding is an activity that is popular with people who do not feel that regular skiing is lethal enough.

These are of course young people, fearless people, people with 100 percent synthetic bodies who can hurtle down a mountainside at 50 miles per hour and knock down mature trees with their faces and then spring to their feet and go, “Cool.”

People like my son. He wanted to try snowboarding, and I thought it would be good to learn with him, because we can no longer ski together.

We have a fundamental difference in technique: He skis via the Downhill Method, in which you ski down the hill; whereas I ski via the Breath-Catching Method, in which you stand sideways on the hill, looking as athletic as possible without actually moving muscles (this could cause you to start sliding down the hill).

If anybody asks if you’re OK, you say, “I’m just catching my breath!” in a tone of voice that suggests that at any moment you’re going to swoop rapidly down the slope; whereas in fact you’re planning to stay right where you are, rigid as a statue, until the spring thaw.

At night, when the Downhillers have all gone home, we Breath-Catchers will still be up there, clinging to the mountainside, chewing on our parkas for sustenance.

So I thought I’d take a stab at snowboarding, which is quite different from skiing.

In skiing, you wear a total of two skis, or approximately one per foot, so you can sort of maintain your balance by moving your feet, plus you have poles that you can stab people with if they make fun of you at close range.

Whereas with snowboarding, all you get is one board, which is shaped like a giant tongue depressor and manufactured by the Institute of Extremely Slippery Things. Both of your feet are strapped firmly to this board, so that if you start to fall, you can’t stick a foot out and catch yourself. You crash to the ground like a tree and lie there while skiers swoop past and deliberately spray snow on you.

Skiers hate snowboarders. It’s a generational thing. Skiers are (and here I am generalizing) middle-aged Republicans wearing designer space suits; snowboarders are defiant young rebels wearing deliberately drab clothing that is baggy enough to cover the snowboarder plus a major appliance. Skiers like to glide down the slopes in a series of graceful arcs; snowboarders like to attack the mountain, slashing, spinning, tumbling, going backward, blasting through snowdrifts, leaping off cliffs, getting their noses pierced in midair, etc.

Skiers view snowboarders as a menace; snowboarders view skiers as Elmer Fudd.

I took my snowboarding lesson in a small group led by a friend of mine named Brad Pearson, who also once talked me into jumping from a tall tree while attached only to a thin rope.

Brad took us up on a slope that offered ideal snow conditions for the novice who’s going to fall a lot: Approximately seven flakes of powder on top of an 18-foot-thick base of reinforced concrete.

You could not dent this snow with a jackhammer. (I later learned, however, that you COULD dent it with the back of your head.)

We learned snowboarding via a two step method:

STEP ONE: Watching Brad do something.

STEP TWO: Trying to do it ourselves.

I was pretty good at Step One. The problem with Step Two was that you had to stand up on your snowboard, which turns out to be a violation of at least five important laws of physics.

I’d struggle to my feet, and I’d be wavering there and then the Physics Police would drop a huge chunk of gravity on me, and WHAM my body would hit the concrete snow, sometimes bouncing as much as a foot.

“Keep your knees bent!” Brad would yell, helpfully.

Have you noticed that whatever sport you’re trying to learn, some earnest person is always telling you to keep your knees bent? As if THAT would solve anything. I wanted to shout back, “FORGET MY KNEES! DO SOMETHING ABOUT THESE GRAVITY CHUNKS!”

Needless to say my son had no trouble at all. None. In minutes he was cruising happily down the mountain; you could actually see his clothing getting baggier. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time lying on my back, groaning, while space-suited Republicans swooped past and sprayed snow on me.

If I hadn’t gotten out of there, they’d have completely covered me; I now realize that the small hills you see on ski slopes are formed around the bodies of 47-year-olds who tried to learn snowboarding.

So I think, when my body heals, I’ll go back to skiing. Maybe sometime you’ll see me out on the slopes, catching my breath. Please throw me some food.

Michael Irvin was complaining to Calvin Williams about his first trip to the Super Bowl and how hard it was to get any sleep the night before the big game. “I was awakened at one, two and four in the morning by a drunk cheerleader banging on the door and screaming,” he recalled.

“That’s terrible,” said Williams. “How’d you ever get any sleep?”

“At five o’clock I finally unlocked the door and let her out,” replied Irvin.

Q: What tea footballers don’t drink ?
A: Penaltea.

12. Lesson 1: A guy who looks and sounds like Danny DeVito in a bathrobe points to a pile of concrete blocks and says “Knock yourselves out, Grasshoppers.”

11. All the trophies in the display case appear to be altered bowling trophies.

10. Due to a misspelling of “Martial Arts” on the door, half the class shows up with vibrators and lotions.

9. Other students show up with sketchbooks.

8. Instead of belts, levels of prowess are denoted by colorful suspenders and co-ordinating ascots.

7. Although the Grandmaster’s hands “move faster than the eye can see”, you can still detect a fair amount of nose picking going on.

6. The lesson keeps getting interrupted while the Master swaps french fry baskets.

5. As a student is wheeled out by paramedics, the instructor says “Class, name 3 things Alan did wrong.”

4. You’re pretty sure “Monkey Style” does not involve masturbation and throwing feces at your attacker.

3. You practice kicks on a stage while sweaty men stuff dollar bills in your g-string.

2. Spent the first eight lessons learning to talk while moving your lips in a seemingly unrelated manner.

1. At the end of every class, your instructor says, “…or you could just buy a friggin’ gun.”

[ This list copyright 1998 by Chris White ]

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