Scratch Is Mastering The Art Of Swinging Golf Irons
Scratch sits poised on the fairway, staring intently at a dozen personalized golf balls laying inches from each other. This technology wasn't available when he first started playing the game, but now he is staring at the balls, while his custom cartoon look a-like face stares back at him. His hands start to shake with excitement, as he makes his way to the golf cart, which is carrying his and his partner's bag and other equipment. He reaches for his golf irons. On this special occasion he grabs his Taylormade 9-iron, and makes his way back to the balls.
What is it about the game's equipment, especially the golf irons that makes him feel this way? Is it the power he holds over the balls? Or is it possibly the technology backing it that has custom made this club personalized just for him? He lifts the
club, and stares down the 35 inches of the graphite shaft and points to beasts at the edge of the fairway.
Why are these creatures here on his golf course? They don't know anything about golf irons, bags, or any of the technology that goes into the equipment. They just hoot and growl as they try to scare
Callaway clad golfers off the fairway. Ghastly monsters, ferocious teeth, horrible smell. They are the perfect distance away. The shot is meant to scare them, to scatter them off the fairway, while also giving him a great lie.
His Partner, Scotch, while more into fitness than golf, has also agreed to swing his golf irons in hopes of torturing the beasts that plague this hole's fairway. His clubs are not custom, and his balls are not personalized, but he plans to land them within inches of the horde. He has also placed twelve of his
Nike balls. After target practice, each player will play his best ball.
Scratch takes the first swing, he over shoots into the water. Another personalized golf ball drowned. Scotch's turn. He lines up. Whack! He hits one between the eyes. It begins to roar. How could less than custom golf iron have allowed for a better shot than Scratch's. Scratch needs to redeem himself. He steps up and swings. Thwack! With any luck that morbidly obese creature will have a personalized Scratch face on his torso for few months. The creatures are in an uproar, confused by the new attack. What technology could be bringing these balls with such velocity into their midst.
Scotch takes another go. His swing sends them scattering, and lands just on the edge of the fairway.
One has begun to make a motion towards them. Scratch's ball hits him in the nose, stopping him dead in his tracks, stunned. Another creature inches forward. Scotch over shoots. He begins to gallop towards the pair. Scratch steps up quickly, and bags him. He falls to the ground. Two more begin to inch forward. Scotch and Scratch swing. Both miss. This is no longer about golf. It is about survival, they have angered the beasts.
More of the creatures begin to take off towards them. Scratch takes one more swing with his golf iron and drops the closest creature, while Scotch grabs the
equipment, and the bags, and quickly loads up the cart. Scratch jumps in. His swinging jitters will never exist again. They may not be able to outrun them, but the golf carts technology will send them speeding down the fairway to safety.
What a strange day on the golf links.