Golf Balls

golf balls

I am thankful for golf balls. I know this sounds strange. I liked them before I even began playing golf. My dad had a shag bag of them he kept in the hall closet in our old home in Edinburg, Indiana. I couldn’t have been more than about 6 years old when I played with them. I rolled them down the hall and had contests between the brands of balls as to which rolled further. In my book, Titleist was always the winner. I remember telling my dad that I liked the “tit least” balls the best. He corrected me on the pronunciation explaining it was “title-ist”. I’m glad he rectified that serious blunder before I began playing golf. Can you imagine how the other boys would have teased me about that one? They didn’t need any more ammunition!

When I began playing golf, I found a new and better use for golf balls – hitting them long and straight at little targets made of shortly cropped grass, centered at a small hole in the ground, and imbibing the wonderful feeling into my very soul as the ball met the clubhead dead center (It’s an indescribable feeling that courses through the clubhead, up the shaft, into your hands, up your arms, and somehow makes its way into the pleasure centers of your brain).  And more often than I would like to admit, I also tested out how the golf balls responded when hit into water, out of bounds, or into impossible lies-which I did quite often!

Golf balls have been improved. Now they can go 300+ yards routinely, even approaching 400 yards (not at my hands, I promise, although I did hit one about 340 yards once but I was the beneficiary of a very strong back wind). There are golf balls for fast swinging golfers, slow swinging golfers, and in between.  Balls that go straighter, farther, or higher. It’s too complicated for me. With my swing, it doesn’t really matter what kind of ball I use. The results are pretty much the same. Forlorn.  

I went through a stage when Maxfli was my favorite ball. But I think that was the rebellious teenager in me at the time. Now, of course, tit least is the ball of choice. Of course. It rolls further down the hall.

wish i had a dollar


wish I had a dollar

for every golf ball

that i shanked

or hit into the water

or even a nickel

for every one

that ended up in a pickle

or subsequently failed to fly

or hit out of bounds

in sand or unplayable lie

buried in the ground

if i stayed out of the ditch

if only if

then i would be kind of rich

of course…

if i had not played golf at all

and erstwhile saved all my golf money

i’d be wealthy with

a disposition much more sunny.

(oh shucks but what the heck

i’m hitting the golf ball again

so you should hit the deck!)

© rt tulley