Lord Stanley and the Cheerleaders
It was 610am in the morning and cold. OK, maybe not for you but for us 38 degrees is like an ice age.
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Joe Ditzel
Joe Ditzel Has Some Problems
Sports
Los Angeles Lakers and Dodgers to Merge
Internal battles, political clashes, high profile divorces and losing seasons have prompted the owners of the Los Angeles Dodgers and The Los Angeles Lakers to merge the two teams. The Los Angeles Lake-Dodgers will field a baseball team as well as a basketball team using the same players.
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Who Golfers Lie To About Their Score
Let’s be honest. Golfers like like a shag carpet. Here is who they lie to the most.
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How To Shoot A Golf Score of 59 Within One Week
Many golfers dream of shooting a life-time low score of 89, 79 and even 69. Here are 5 steps to go even lower- 59 for 18 holes of golf.
1. You will need to drive the ball regularly at least 395.5 yards. This is achieved by a much longer swing arc than your current swing. To achieve this you must buy (or borrow) some circus stilts and wrap them to your legs with duct tape.
2. Put your golf shoes on the end of the stilts for good stability and traction.
3. Attach a sturdy bungy cord to the end of your driver. This will allow you to reach the ball from the stilts.
4. Swing the club back with the bungy cord in a huge power arc. At the top of the backswing, "step into the shot" much like a baseball player, turn your hips and whip the bungy cord/club as hard as you can.
5. Keep your head down and follow through. The club will be travelling over 700 mph. When it comes through the ball there is a strong possibility it will come around and hit you in the head. For this reason you should wear a motorcycle helmet or NFL quality football helmet when using this method. A Chicago Bears helmet would be good because it is used to being abused. Add a world-class short game and putting skills and you will shoot 59 this week or within 10 days give or take.
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Are You An Angry Golfer?
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The Builder – Golf Joke
A builder and a priest are out for a game of golf one afternoon. Unfortunately the builder wasn’t very good at the game and every time he missed a shot would shout ‘Damn, missed’.
The game went on and after several outbursts from the builder, the priest could hold his tongue no longer. “Don’t swear like that” he told his friend, “or God will punish you”. The builder apologized and the game continued.
As soon as he missed another shot the builder shouted “Damn, missed.” and continued to do this every time he missed a shot for the next three holes.
The priest was starting to get really angry by now and said “I must insist that you stop swearing this instant, otherwise God will hear you and punish you!”
Once again, his pleas made no difference as the builder missed an easy putt on the seventeenth green and shouted out “Damn, missed”. Immediately the heavens parted and a bolt of lightning flew from the sky, hitting the priest and killing him stone dead.
Suddenly, a booming voice was heard in the clouds, “Damn, missed!”
Holy – Golf Joke
One Sunday morning, a Priest looks out his window at a beautiful, sunny day. Although he knows that it’s his responsibility to say Mass in an hour, he calls in his second, complaining of illness. He then sneaks out the back door with his golf clubs.
Up in heaven, Saint Peter and God are watching. St. Peter says to God “You can’t let that go unpunished! That Priest is giving in to temptation and not living up to his vows.”
God agrees, but as St. Peter watches, the Priest is having the round of his life. In fact, on the par 3 17th hole, the Priest hits a beautiful shot and the ball rolls into the hole, for his first ever hole-in-one.
St. Peter is very upset and says to God, “Do something! He’s having the round of his life!”
God calmly turned to St. Peter, smiled, and said “Yes, but who’s he going to tell?”
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Before the Big Man
Arnold Palmer, Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods are standing at the throne of heaven. God looks at them and says, “Before granting you a place at my side, I must ask you what you have learned, what you believe in.”
God asks Arnie first: “What do you believe?” Arnie thinks long and hard, looks God in the eye, and says, “I believe in hard work, and in staying true to family and friends. I believe in giving. I was lucky, but I always tried to do right by my fans.”
God can’t help but see the essential goodness of Palmer, and offers him a seat to his left. Then God turns to Nicklaus and says, “What do you believe?”
Jack says, “I believe passion, discipline, courage and honor are the fundamentals of life.
Like Arnold, I believe in hard work. I, too, have been lucky, but win or lose, I’ve always tried to be a true sportsman, both on and off the playing fields.”
God is greatly moved by Jack’s eloquence, and he offers him a seat to his right.
Finally, God turns to Woods: “And you, Tiger, what do you believe?”
Tiger replies, “I believe you’re in my seat.”
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Press Spin
Two boys are playing hockey on a pond in a park in Toronto, when one is attacked by a rabid Rottweiler. Thinking quickly, the other boy takes his stick, wedges it down the dog's collar and twists, breaking the dog's neck. A reporter who was strolling by sees the incident, and rushes over to interview the boy.
"Young Leafs Fan Saves Friend From Vicious Animal," he starts writing in his notebook.
"But I'm not a Leafs fan," the little hero replied.
"Sorry, since we are in Toronto, I just assumed you were." said the reporter and starts again,
"Little Jays Fan Rescues Friend From Horrific Attack" he continued writing in his notebook.
"I'm not a Jays fan either," the boy said. "I assumed everyone in Toronto was either a Leafs or Jays fan.
What team, do you root for?" the reporter asked.
"I'm a Montreal Canadiens fan." the child said.
The reporter starts a new sheet in his notebook and writes, "Little Kid from Montreal Kills Beloved Family Pet."
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Crazy Golfers: Mr. I Coulda Been Somebody
“I was All-State my junior and senior year in high school,” Mr. I Coulda Been Somebody tells you. He definitely
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Sports Joke: Mental Health Lecture
The psychology instructor had just finished a lecture on mental health and had proceeded to give an oral quiz to the freshman class.
Speaking specifically about manic depression, the instructor asked, “How would you diagnose a patient who walks back and forth screaming at the top of his lungs one minute, then sits in a chair weeping uncontrollably the next?”
A young man in the rear of the room raised his hand and answered, “A basketball coach?”
Spanked
Here is some advice: never go on a golf date.
It seemed harmless enough. I play golf. She plays golf. Let’s play golf, I suggested. We could get to know each other and, if love didn’t strike, enjoy a day on the links. Right?
Wrong.
My first drive hooked left into the long stuff. I eased the cart up to the ladies tee for her drive. She took a few practice swings. This is when I heard the first alert of my MALE EGO DEFENSE WARNING SYSTEM: she had the best tempo of any golfer I’ve ever seen. I should have driven back to the car right then, complaining of dizziness and old war wounds.
Her pre-shot routine is careful and un-hurried. Then she takes the club back low and slow, ending with the club well behind her head. No way she can get back to the ball from there, you think. You’d think wrong. She hesitates at the top for what seems like hours. Then she eases the club back down and inside, gently brushing the top of the grass into a perfectly balanced finish. You could set the atomic clock to her swing.
The ball sailed down the middle, curling to the left at the end in a slight draw. When I hit a golf ball, it jumps off the clubface in a panic, like someone jumping out of a burning building. When she hits, the ball seems to leap gracefully from the club, like a figure skater gracefully throwing his partner in the air in a tight spin.
We found my ball in the rough. I hit a respectable shot to the back of the green. We drove over to her ball in the fairway. Again, she took her time. She didn’t seem to know that golf is an anxiety producing sport. Golf can rip your heart out! No one over told her. She was as cool and calm as the beer in the cooler. She surveyed her shot and took another beautiful practice swing. Easy. Balanced. Perfect. I hate her.
Her 7-iron carved a perfect divot as the ball headed for the green. Her golf balls were her friends. My golf balls hate me. They do mean things to me because I hit them as hard as I can. She was nice to them, patting them on the butt with her perfect tempo. In return, they were nice to her.
The ball was tracking right at the pin. No fade. No draw. RIGHT AT THE PIN. WARNING! WARNING! I heard my MALE EGO DEFENSE WARNING SYSTEM go haywire.
I remember watching news reports of the Gulf War. They put video cameras right in the nose of some missiles. Norman Schwartzkoff would stand next to a TV while we all watched from the view of the missile as it locked on a building. Seconds later you could see right in the window of the building before it blew up. If there was a camera in her ball, you would have seen the camera looking down at the green as the ball hit the top of its arc. The cross-hairs would be trained spot-on the flag. Then the green would rush into view, filling the screen as the ball slammed back to earth.
It bounced once, hit the flag, and dropped next to the hole. Easy birdie.
Hello.
I’m about to get spanked.
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Members Only
The U.S. Senior Open is scheduled to be played at the Des Moines Golf and Country Club July 8-11, 1999. I look forward to attending that event. I want to see the great golfers. But mostly I want to find the member that got me in trouble when I worked there as a busboy in high school.
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