The following was developed as a mental age assessment by the School of Psychiatry at Harvard University.

Take your time and see if you can read each line aloud without a mistake.

The average person over 60 years of age cannot do it!

1. This is this cat.
2. This is is cat.
3. This is how cat.
4. This is to cat.
5. This is keep cat.
6. This is an cat.
7. This is old cat.
8. This is fart cat.
9. This is busy cat.
10. This is for cat.
11. This is forty cat.
12. This is seconds cat.

Now go back and read the third word in each line from the top down and I bet you cannot resist passing it on.

THREE LITTLE BOYS were concerned because they couldn’t get anyone to play with them They decided it was because they had not been baptized and didn’t go to Sunday school.

So, they went to the nearest church. But, only the janitor was there. One little boy said, “We need to be baptized because no one will come out and play with us. Will you baptize us?”

Sure,” said the janitor. He took them into the bathroom and dunked their little heads in the toilet bowl, one at a time. Then he said, “You are now baptized!”

When they got outside, one of them asked, “‘What religion do you think we are?”

The oldest one said, “We’re not Kathlick, because they pour the water on you.”

“We’re not Babtis, because they dunk all of you in the water.” “We’re not Methdiss, because they just sprinkle water on you.”

The littlest one said, “Didn’t you smell that water?”

They all joined in asking, ‘Yeah! What do you think that means?’

“I think it means we’re Pisskopailians!”

Hunter was 4 years old and was staying with his grandfather for a few days.  He’d been playing outside with the other kids, when he came into the house and asked, ‘Grandpa, what’s that called when two people sleep in the same bedroom and one is on top of the other?’

His Grandpa was a little taken aback, but he decided to tell him the truth.  ‘Well, Hunter, it’s called sexual intercourse.’  ‘Oh,’ Little Hunter said, ‘OK,’ and went back outside to play with the other kids.

A few minutes later he came back in and said angrily, ‘Grandpa, it isn’t called sexual intercourse.  It’s called Bunk Beds.  And Jimmy’s mom wants to talk to you.’

Every time I say I’m giving up this game for bowling I guess I just have to read this! 

It’s the smell of fresh cut grass.

It’s the way the first tee feels, alive with possibility.

It’s that feeling, out of nowhere, that comes as you’re lining up a putt, letting you know that all you have to do is get the ball rolling and the hole got in the way

It’s the thump of a well-played bunker shot.

It’s nine holes late in the day, when the sun is sinking and the shadows  are stretching, showing every bump and roll in a golden light that makes you stop and look around.

It’s the Golf Channel on in the corner of the bar.

It’s calling your shot and pulling it off.

It’s the eighth hole at Grandfather, the third at Linville and the 14th at Balsam Mountain, paintings with a flagstick in the middle.

It’s your Saturday morning game, with a little money on the line and no haggling about the teams.

It’s the guys who look like they can’t play a lick then spend their days around par, not needing swing coaches, just having a knack for getting the ball in the hole.

It’s calling your own penalties. 

It’s a kid with his bag slung over his shoulder, cap pulled low, hoofing it down a fairway.

It’s nipping a wedge just right, having it bounce once and cozy up to the hole the way Sergio does it.

It’s a bowl of peanuts and a cold beer at the end of the day, when stories can be embellished if only a little.

It’s the warm feel of a turtleneck in December, the first greening of the grass in March, the thrill of hitting it a club longer in July and greens as fast as the kitchen floor in October.

It’s the suntan marks left by your golf socks and shoes.

It’s Harbour Town in April, Quail Hollow in May and Pinehurst (Sea Island) anytime.

It’s having the sun behind you and catching a tee shot square, having a moment to admire it as it’s framed against the sky.

It’s the small but sudden thrill of finding a new Titleist, even if you already have a bagful.

It’s the clutch in your throat the first time you see St. Andrews and the never-ending thrill of Amen Corner.

It’s the belief that the magic you’ve found in a new driver will last forever.

It’s the scent of salt air, the faint taste of pine pollen on your lips and the glimpse of a gator in a low country lagoon.

It’s standing over a 5-footer that doesn’t matter to anyone but you and being thankful for the feeling.

It’s Tiger on the tee, Mickelson with a wedge in his hand, Nicklaus on the property.

It’s the little places with pickups in the parking lot, ragged grass, bumpy greens, worn-out golf carts, yellow range balls and a spirit all their own.

It’s the way you practice your swing in the elevator riding down, the way you put an overlapping grip on the rake and the way you see golf holes where others just see fields along the highway.

It’s the way tournament golf feels, even if it’s just a little club event.

It’s the feel of new grips and the shine of new irons.

It’s playing with your father, your brother or your daughter.

It’s listening to David Feherty, Johnny Miller and Nick Faldo explain the game as only they can.

It’s the gentle creak of aging muscles in the evening, a good tired.

It’s a birdie at the 18th to win the press.

It’s having people who understand what’s important, whether it’s renovating a course or reinventing a local tournament. 

It’s going for a par-5 in two, trying to cut a corner and that instant when you wonder if the shot is as good as it looks.

It’s Golf.

And, It’s Why We Play!

Golf!

• You hit down to make the ball go up.
• You swing left and the ball goes right.
• The lowest score wins, on top of that, the winner buys the drinks.
• It is harder than baseball – In Golf; you have to play your foul balls.
• If you find you do not mind playing Golf in the rain, the snow, even during a hurricane, here’s a valuable tip …….. your life is in trouble.
• Golfers who try to make everything perfect before taking the shot rarely make a perfect shot.
• A ‘gimme’ can best be defined as an agreement between two golfers…neither of whom can putt very well.
• An interesting thing about Golf is that no matter how badly you play, it is always possible to get worse.
• Golf’s a hard game to figure. One day you’ll go out and slice it and shank it, hit into all the traps and miss every green. The next day you go out and for no reason at all you really stink.
• If your best shots are the practice swing and the ‘gimme putt’, you might wish to reconsider this game.
• Golf is the only sport where the most feared opponent is you.
• Golf is like marriage, if you take yourself too seriously it won’t work, and both are expensive.
• The best wood in most amateurs’ bags is the pencil.

Golf can best be defined as an endless series of tragedies followed by a good bottle of beer.

Golf isn’t life – it’s more important than that!

What is a mulligan called in Ireland?  Three.

When is our tee time!! – Have a Great Day.

Joe the lawyer died suddenly, at the age of 45. He got to the gates of Heaven, and the angel standing there said, “We’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

“What do you mean?” he replied. “I’m only 45, in the prime of my life. Why did I have to die now?”

“45? You’re not 45, you’re 82,” replied the angel.

“Wait a minute. If you think I’m 82, then you have the wrong guy. I’m only 45. I can show you my birth certificate.”

“Hold on. Let me go check,” said the angel, and disappeared inside. After a few minutes, the angel returned. “Sorry, but by our records, you are 82. I checked all the hours you have billed your clients, and you have to be 82…”

An elderly couple learned to send text messages on their mobile phones.

The wife, a retired college English instructor with emphasis on the Classics, was an unapologetic romantic; her husband, a retired salty Navy chief petty officer of thirty years’ service, was a no-nonsense guy.

One afternoon the wife went to the local Starbuck’s to meet a friend for coffee.  While awaiting her friend’s arrival, she exercised her new skill by sending her husband a romantic text message: “If you are sleeping, send me your dreams.  If you are laughing, send me your smile.  If you are eating, send me a bite.  If you are drinking, send me a sip.  If you are crying, send me your tears. I love you”

The husband responded:  “I’m takin’ a shit.   Please advise.”