(…)

So I went out with my good old dad to play 18 on a warm Thanksgiving afternoon, armed with my trusty antique clubs and about a dozen Pinnacle 392′s. I’ve never been a very good golfer. Actually, some say I should stick to bocce ball since I am the North East Champion from 1987-1993, but I digress. So, after about four holes, and losing about four balls, I finally began to settle into my swing. The ball has 392 dimples. At this point of my outing, the forest had 1568 of them, courtesy of yours truly.

Anyway, my dad and I were on a par three. The hole was in the middle of a small island surrounded by, wouldn’t you know, water. My dad made a beautiful shot that came to rest about 15 feet from the pin. He was using Titleist balls, but this isn’t his story right now. My dad began walking toward his ball as I teed up. I began my back swing, and as I came through the ball, my amazing golfing skill took over. “FOUR!” I screamed, and grabbed my genitals in a nervous gesture. My Pinnacle was flying right at my dad at top speed. Instinctively, he turned around, using his golf bag as a shield. The ball hit his bag, and ricocheted down the fairway. I ran up to him to see if he was all right, and thankfully he was. We chalked it up to bad foot placement and the club face being off a few degrees. We moved on.

After a few more holes, we finally made it to 18. My golfing did not improve by this point, and I was ready to finish up and nurse my hurt pride with a nice turkey dinner at home. The 18th was a long, rolling 450 yards. I teed up, ready for further disappointment, when I hit the shot of my life. It must have gone 275 yards. My Pinnacle started out as a low line drive, catching the breeze and rising into a long, straight shot. I was amazed. My dad was amazed. God was amazed. I walked up to my ball with pride, ready for another spectacular shot, when I noticed a large gaggle of geese about 100 feet in front of my ball.

“Oh no,” I said to my dad. “This can’t be good. One of these geese is going to die.”

My dad tried to reassure me, reminding me of my last shot.

“Just hit the ball and don’t think about it,” he advised.

I stepped up to my ball with a 5 iron nervously shaking in my sweaty palm. I set my feet, and looked off toward the pin. “Here goes nothing.”

My Pinnacle shot through the air with amazing accuracy. It was the most stunning shot I ever made, as if I was using a shotgun and my Pinnacle Power 392 was the shell. The ball hit off the head of a large goose. The bird fell to the ground, but then struggled to get up again. Everything was in slow motion, I was so scared and sorry and amazed. The bird’s head went up and down, up and down as it fought to maintain consciousness. Blood began squirting out of a fracture in the skull, spurting out in synchronized beats with it’s slowing heart. I looked at my dad and he looked at me. Tears welled in my eyes. I was heartbroken. I never killed a living creature before, and I never thought that I would. The quick thought passed through my mind that I should go up to the goose and put it out of it’s misery, but by the time I looked again, the goose was dead. All of his fellow geese were crying out. It was quite a sight to see.

After talking to my dad, I went to tell the Mexican grounds keeper. He didn’t understand a word I said. After playing a game of charades, he finally got the point and jumped into a cart and sped away toward my kill. I ran after, and upon reaching my destination, I saw him pick up the limp body by the neck. He looked at it, and then held it up in victory, waving the carcass around screaming in Spanish. A bunch of his amigos came running out, and as he drove up to them, they all cheered, chanting something in Spanish that sounded like “comida.”

I walked over to my Pinnacle Power 392. It was lying in the grass, innocent, almost sad. It looked so cute with all it’s dimples, but I could no longer love it. I turned my back on that Judas, and walked away, never to return to that place. That awful, cursed place..

Anyway, the Pinnacle Power 392 is an excellent ball. It goes far, it is white, it has 392 dimples, and I guess that’s all you can really say about a golf ball. I am terrible at golf, but the rare time that I hit the ball well, boy did it cook!