Dear Skip this is your golf clubs writing.
We are starting to feel pretty neglected. I know last year the season started really really really really late after the Bruins won the Stanley cup. We also know you met someone, but she doesn’t even play golf she just likes watching it apparently. Skip, we used to be much closer and now We don’t even know who you are anymore. Your Trek Madone is quick to point out that he has been riding with you regularly, speeding through the hills of Manchester by the sea and metro-west. You keep him inside the house not down in the garage, we are starting to take it personally.
We were a team once, You, us, a bag of balls, that fat guy Phil and a small cooler of beer. What happened where did you go? Where did our drives down the fairway disappear to?
You must not have to take long walks to find happiness anymore, to think about stuff. I remember the days when you were all over the place trying to find your way out of the woods, traps and water holes.
Things have changed obviously, and we just want you to know that if things don’t work out with Tazgirl We will be waiting for you in the dusty musky corner of the garage right where you left us last year after that SBANE golf tournament fiasco, those were good times.
Please come back! We miss your bad chips, your horrible putts and god awful drives that nearly kill people but we are family aren’t we? Didn’t your grandmother always say you reminded her of Johnny Miller?
We will be waiting
Your Golf Clubs.