Tuesday, August 2, 2011

Don't Tell The Local Golfers That This CA Girl Is Pocketing Their Lost Balls!

Not a day goes by that those dedicated - seriously dedicated - golfers scan the ground, looking for a where did it go? golfball. They literally walk away from their current par, walking back and forth through the shrubbery hunting, hunting, and hunting some more for their little orb.

When I first walked into Rudy's add some color to this place! rental six weeks ago my eyes focused on his minimal collection of balls, sitting neatly on a windowsill; he found them on the slightly overgrown grass in front of his place. "Sometimes I would be sitting on the front porch when a ball would roll toward me. Then I would see a guy looking all around; I would hold the ball up and ask 'Are you looking for this?' ....I returned the ball. But, on occasion I would find a ball... No one was around so I just placed it on the sill."

Shortly thereafter my almost daily walks and/or runs began. Little did I know that I was going to become a lost ball collector. A ball here. A ball there. Balls, balls everywhere!

Now, you see, I pocket those lost balls - in my socks, of course - to maintain my secret identity, my ball collecting identity.

Well, yesterday, there I was walking along in the extreme heat, eyes searching the land for my next ball. Would it be lime green, or the plain white one that most golfers seem to prefer? Suddenly, an out-of-contol circular plaything bounced next to me, landing quietly on a mound of water-me-please grass. "Surely, this ball belongs to someone; someone playing a round somewhere?" I told myself.

Being an honest ball collector, I scanned the area looking for a possible owner. "Ah, it must be one of those guys.... way over there, across the street, a block and a half down," I wondered; wondered too, if they are considered good players, hitting the ball so far away from their current post. I raised the ball above my head then yelled, "Is this your ball?"

"Yeah, we'll get it in a little while." They went right back to focusing on a perfect aim, trying to make it into the man-made hole all balls are meant to glide into. I dropped the little white nugget back to the ground and walked off. As I rounded the corner, low and behold!, another ball! Lickity-split I pressed it into an oversized pocket.

I continued on my way home, five balls total hidden within the confines of my workout gear, to add to Rudy's original stash. "If there was ever any doubt, if anyone was wondering if I might be the person finding all the lost golfballs I just squelched those thoughts. I was undercover, incognito, when I happily offered to returned the ball to those two might-consider-private-golfing-lessons golfers," I admitted matter-of-factly.

Rudy bellied over, laughing; a you're crazy!! laugh. Glad I could end his day with some humor. All I know is that the windowsill no longer is able to hold Rudy's collection; thanks to this lost golfball collector.

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