Dear Golf Balls,

I spent several thousands of dollars on my trip to the Masters in Augusta, Georgia. I had to pay for a flight to and from Toronto, a very expensive hotel for four days, a shuttle to and from the club, meals, beer, a four day pass to the Masters, and the latest in designer golf wear. This was a major financial commitment on my part, and one that I do not take lightly.

Beyond these monetary considerations, we cannot forget the significant amount of time I spent attending the Masters. I got up each day at the crack of dawn to make my way to Augusta and walked briskly (I did not run!) each morning to find a good spot near the tee at the first hole. I waited patiently each morning for the parade of golfers to tee off at the most beautiful golf course in the world. Each time they gripped their drivers, waggled the shafts and wound up for their swing, I held my breath. When they finally came forward with their swing and hammered you guys down the fairway, I gave you your instructions:

“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!!!!”

But did you listen? No, you did not. You refused to get in the hole. Instead, you, the contrarian synthetically-made bastards that you are, proceeded to fall short of the hole and thus failed to attend the requested location. This, quite frankly, is unacceptable.

Why won’t you get in the hole?

Was I not loud enough for you? Did you not hear me? I am certain that you would have been able to discern my blisteringly strong command from the murmuring of the crowd around me. On each occasion, right after the club hit the ball, that was me: “GET IN THE HOLE!!!!” Every single time. Every single tee shot.

“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”
“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”
“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”
“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”
“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”
“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”
“GET IN THE HOLE!!!!”

Surely you must have heard me. I am quite sure that all of my fellow patrons of the Augusta National Golf Club did. Many commented to me (in equally loud voices) that they had heard me already. I kept at it, though, just in case you golf balls hadn’t.

Did you not understand what I was saying? I was ordering you, as shots projected by a third party’s swing, to somehow find your way into holes that were several hundred yards away. I think it’s quite evident what I was asking, and yet there was no hole-getting to be had. It really makes me wonder why I loudly scream the same thing time and time again, tee shot after tee shot. It gets frustrating. Did you notice that I wasn’t yelling “YOU DA MAN!!!”? That little cheer focuses on the golfer, not the balls. It’s you guys that I am talking to. I don’t want any confusion. I just want the ball in the hole. Clear. Simple. Effective. Or so I thought. Instead, the holes remained ungotten for all four days of the tournament. I don’t know why I wasted my breath.

Oh, what’s that you say? You did get in the hole once, namely on Ian Poulter’s tee shot on the 16th hole on the first day? As I said, I was on the first tee. It really doesn’t count when you decide to follow my instructions FIFTEEN HOLES LATER! When I want you in the hole, I want you in the hole NOW, not when you feel like it. You are making it seem like getting a hole-in-one is pure random luck.

Golf balls, I am pretty well at the end of my tether here. I don’t want to waste my money on a trip to the British Open later this year just to have you completely ignore me once again. If you do not “GET IN THE HOLE” when ordered, you will be down one angry (but very influential) fan. If you let me down again, I am going to be forced to go back to taking photographs of golfers, which didn’t really go that well the last time I tried. Still, if that’s what has to be done, my conscience is clear. I have to do something. And so do you, my little white friends.

Do it.

Just get in there. It feels right. Do it.

Sincerely,

Butter Chicken

[Editor's note: Never, ever search at work for the term "Get in the hole" under Google Images. It is pretty well guaranteed to bring up some images that you should not be looking at, regardless of what sexual persuasion you are. Also, close your door when you masturbate at work.]