Kinda like these songs ....very easy on the ear

Aight Father"s Day is coming, and millions of children and/or wives are thinking: ""This year, I think I"ll get Dad a nice casual shirt.""

Fine.Go ahead. Although you might want to ask yourself a couple of questions first, such as: Does Dad WANT another nice casual shirt? Have you noticed that Dad currently OWNS approximately 73 nice casual shirts, and he wears only two of them? And that he wears one of those two onlywhen the other one is really dirty? Do you honestly believe that Dad is thinking: ""Boy, I wish I had ANOTHER shirt, so I could not wear it!""?

Of course not. Dad is thinking ...

OK, never mind what Dad is thinking. Nobody ever really knows what Dad is thinking, including, much of the time, Dad. But trust me, he does not want a shirt.

""But,"" you say, ""when I gave him a shirt last year, he appeared to like it!""
Ofcourse he did. Like all fathers, he has learned to simulate sincere appreciation for gifts that he has absolutely no use for. That"s why Dad always responded so positively back when you used to give him --and I hope you no longer do this, although I understand it still happens, even in 21st-century - a tie.

""Wow!"" Dad would go. ""A piece of cloth to knot tightly around my neck, strikingly similar to the numerous other pieces of neck cloth wadded together in the back of my closet!""

In my entire life, I have met two men who were genuinely interested in ties. Both of these men were in the tie industry. Dads are so good at feigning appreciation that they even were able, years ago, to pretend they were happy to receive cologne. This was back in the dark days of cologne-giving, which mercifully came to an end after the horrible tragedy wherein a 72-year-old man"s house collapsed under the weight of the estimated 2,000 unopened bottles of Old Spice that he had stored in his attic.

""OK,"" you are saying, "then what SHOULD I get for Dad? If I ask him what he wants, he always says, "Oh, nothing." That"s because he knows that if he told you what he really wants, you wouldn"t
give it to him. For example, let"s consider the area of clothing. The nicest Father"s Day surprise of all for Dad would be if you handed him a box, and he unwrapped it, and there, inside, sitting on a bed of
folded tissue, was the pair of his undershorts that somebody threw away six months ago (without asking Dad) because they had reached the stage where they were 3 percent undershorts and 97 percent holes. Dad misses those undershorts. They were his Faithful Undershorts Companion.

 The point is that you cannot give Dad these things for Father"s Day. But you know what you CAN give him? You can give him what he always tells you he wants: Nothing. I mean it. For Dad, the
perfect Father"s Day would be one in which he didn"t even realize that it WAS Father"s Day, because nobody was making him appreciate gifts he didn"t want, or read greeting cards filled with lame Father"s Day poetry (""When I was just a little tyke, you showed me how to ride a bike; And you were sweet to me the day, I drove your car into the bay; Dad, I think you"re really grand, I"m praying for your prostate gland"").

There would be none of this, on the perfect Father"s Day. There would be just Dad, wearing his oldest surviving undershorts, free of pressure, maybe just sitting in front of the TV, watching his favorite sports channel. There would be no conversation, other than Dad periodically observing that these players suck.

That"s how you can give Dad the perfect Father"s Day. Of course, that"s not all. You"d also make a restaurant reservation, and at the end of the day, you"d dress up and go out and have a nice dinner, during which you"d propose a toast to Dad. Who would be back home, in front of the TV, happily
asleep in his veteran underwear. That would be PERFECT.

Ohh i forgot you"re going to get him a shirt.

Lemme start by defining the word "Flirting". Flirting is defined in dictionaries as "Behaving or acting amorously without emotional commitment." wait dont jump to conclusions yet, that"s just one
definition but, like me, you probably realise that there are also many other definitions of flirting. I have chosen a very generic definition of flirting on which to base my viewpoint. This is because I feel it is important for people to realise that flirting can be a natural way of communicating with anyone as well as a way of communicating either amorous or sexual interest or both!

The word "flirting" has its roots in the old French word "fleurter" meaning "to flower" I like that. But this is how i define Flirting. To flirt is to shine your inner light thru your words and actions in a way that people are irresistibly drawn to you.

Flirting is a natural gift that we have had from birth. Babies flirt wildly with everyone that comes their way. Unfortunately many adults seem to have lost this wonderful ability(most of my friends have). Somewhere along the line we were [wrongly in my opinion] told that it was bad to draw attention to ourselves that little children should be seen and not heard. Some people have grown into adults that are neither seen nor heard. But fear not my friends there is hope you can learn to flirt again.

Flirting is a signaling mechanism that was bestowed upon us by nature. It is a communication tool. The secret is knowing the patterns of others and being aware of our patterns. For example it is useful to know what reaction certain behaviours you do create in others.The reaction might be verydifferent to the reaction you are intending to create. We are all gifted with the ability to signal. Many of us need to learn to read how our signals affect others and what signals we can send out to convey
certain messages. This goes hand in hand with the ability to decipher other people"s signals.

Flirting is our natural way of expressing interest in people. A smile bestowed here, a shared giggle or a word exchanged in the supermarket line can be a powerful thing. Flirting can be a prelude to friendship or a prelude to dating. Once you know how to do it you can choose how to use it. Great flirts do it with everyone, babies, men, women dogs and cats. People who flirt well get what they want in life PERIOD why do i say that? because they know how to create good feelings in other
people.
I am a natural flirt – I love communicating and I find myself initiating conversation with strangers wherever I go.When I go outside in the world I get an overwhelming sense of possibility and anticipation. I know that I have the opportunity to connect with someone new each day. When I encounter someone who looks good I often turn round and say ‘great dress’ or "nice shoes" as I pass by.. Sometimes I place my hand on someone’s shoulder or tap them on the arm and say ‘I just wanted to say – you have lovely hair’. I have NEVER had a rebuff. Quite the contrary. The warm smile that comes over the faces of people I encounter gives me a real buzz. And it costs absolutely nothing.
One word of warning. Dont get carried away, It’s no use telling a grossly overweight person what a
lovely trim figure they have! People can spot insincerity a mile away. I always make sure to compliment only those attributes or adornments that I really do like. I just enjoy smiling and saying "hi" or "good morning" to EVERYONE I meet. I know that someone will take that smile and pass it on to someone else... who knows what positive knock-on consequences it might have.

Life goes at a fast pace and many of us are rushing around with our heads full of what we have to do, what we haven"t done, what"s bothering us, what we want to happen. It"s too easy to get caught up in our own inner world. Every so often it"s important to come outside, pay attention to what"s going on in the world and acknowledge that we all share the same planet and a kind word or a genuine smile goes a long way to maintaining our membership of the human race as opposed to becoming merely a human racing!
There are many different types of flirting. For example, you can flirt sexually or non-sexually. The key is to know what you want to achieve and what are the right signals for your purpose. For example to become a friend I sent out the signals that say, I like you, I want to enjoy your company, but I’m not
available. When you are flirting for fun and not to attract a partner, it is very important to differentiate.

When I was fourteen, I was an indiscriminate, unsophisticated and wanton flirt. If a gal looked at me, I looked back at her and played it for all it was worth, pouting, smiling and generally beckoning. I got myself in a tough situation once when i was flirting with my neighbour without realising that she was falling for me (from my part i thought it was just harmless fun) when she told me that she loves me i had a rude awakening and realised what mistake i made. Believe me you dont wanna do that mistake ever.
Looking back I realised that I was too young to realise what effect my flirting was having on a young gal. The fact is that she understood when I told her how i felt about her but others may not be so understanding. My wild and highly sexual flirting could have harmed people who i really have no intention of harming. There are times when we see someone, we want them and we flirt as a sexual come-on and that"s ok, when you know what you want and go for it. But when we do not have that intention in mind we need to flirt accordingly. If you don"t differentiate you could find yourself in a sticky situation. Of course, wild sexual flirting can be a marvellous bonus in a relationship.

Believe me when i say this, The ability to flirt well comes from an inner belief in one’s own self worth. Some of the best flirts are not your ‘chocolate-box’ beauties or your ‘Handsome" hunks. . They are people who feel confident that they have something to offer the world and enjoy creating good feelings in other people. They are the clever ones because they know that when you make other people feel good, it bounces right back onto you!

What is the point in being a selfish, lonely person when you can send out your light into the world and be one of those people that everyone wants to be with. In conclusion i wanna say..When you learn to flirt successfully and accurately, you can change the world you live in and reap for yourself an endless supply of smiles, happiness, laughter, fun and love. So meet the world head on my friends and spread the love :)

OK, here"s a nostalgia question: What childhood game did you enjoy the most?

But I had friends who loved it; when we played, they became insane, money-grasping capitalist pigs. They"d crouch next to the game board, looking over the tops of their hotels with greed-crazed eyes, watching me throw the dice, waiting for the little car to come around the corner, motoring innocently along -- brrrrmmmmm! -- until it stopped on -- Hah! --Parel (which is like Boardwalk here), and they"d triumphantly announce that I owed them some huge amount of pretend money that they knew to the exact pretend cost of landing on Parel
without looking at the cards.

I"m not saying that all of these friends went on to become attorneys, but it was a healthy percentage.

I will say this about Monopoly: I was better at it than at chess. My problem with chess was that all my pieces wanted to end the game as soon as possible. ""Let"s get this over with!"" was their battle cry. If the rules had allowed it, my pieces would all have charged out onto the board simultaneously the instant the game started. Unfortunately, this was not legal, so they had to content themselves with charging out one at a time, pretty much at random, and immediately getting captured. Here"s what they sounded like:

PAWNS: Oh, no! They got the Knight!

KING: Darn it!

BISHOP: I"ll go next!

KING: Good luck!

PAWNS: Oh, no! They got the Bishop!

KING: Darn it!

QUEEN: I"ll go next!

KING: Good luck!

PAWNS: Oh, no! They got the Queen!

KING: Good! I mean, Darn it!

Because of the level of my chess game, I was able to even against a weak
opponent, such as my dog get myself checkmated in under three minutes. I challenge any computer to do it faster. (am actually kiddin am pretty decent in chess i guess )

The one board game that I still like is Scrabble. I like it because, unlike most other board games, which basically are pointless time-consumers, in Scrabble you can do something mentally
stimulating and worthwhile: make naughty words. There is nothing quite like the sense of intellectual accomplishment that comes from spelling out, say, ""b-o-s-o-m,"" knowing that it will be sitting there on the board for hours, staring up at your opponents.

The problem with Scrabble is that it leads to arguments like this:

FIRST PLAYER: ... e, e, t. There!

SECOND PLAYER: ""gleet?"" What the hell is ``gleet""?

FIRST PLAYER: I have no idea, but if you can use ""pood,"" I can use ``gleet.""

The thing is, according to the Webster Heritage Dictionary, both "gleet" and "pood" really are words, as are "kloof,""fremitus" and "woomera." It turns out that, if you have a big enough dictionary, just about everything is a word, which means you can put down any old
letters you want and claim it"s a legal move.

Of course, you have to be careful whom you"re playing with. The number of violent
Scrabble-related incidents is on the rise. I loved playing cards and the most fun game i ever played was BLUFF and am darn good at it. But my cousin Kishore will make us all look like a monkey in a titty bar, the thing about him is that he has this incredible poker face when he plays  bluff and the game would go something like this

Kishore: 2 Aces

Me: one more

Others: pass

Kishore: 3 more

am like huh?

Kishore (poker face): 3 more

Me: pass

Kishore: 3 more

and i know hes lying so...

Me: Challenge!! and open the cards guess what he didnt bluff the last time and am like F**k

This repeats itself many a times with others taking turns saying F**k and Kishore sitting with his poker face... darn it i hate him ( j/k). I"m sure most ppl will say Ludo and other board games so lets hear it guys walk down the memory lane and tell me your favourites. If you say spin the bottle then i dont want to hear anything about your past :)

I"ve noticed in my life that one of the most common triggers for suffering is that of unmet expectations. Rarely, however,does the person consider that perhaps having the expectation in thefirst place is what caused the trouble. Instead he or she will usually engage in defending those expectations - apparently thinking that if I just agree that the expectations were reasonable that the suffering will go away. It doesn"t. What will alleviate the suffering is letting go of expectations - not justifying them.
I want to share with you a passage from an interesting essay by Frederic and Mary Ann Brussat called, "Great Expectations: They cause us more harm than good". Here it is:

Expectations
can be a big stumbling block for us, both personally and communally.There is an old story about a man who hunted rabbits. One day when he was out in the woods, a rabbit ran past him and collided with a tree stump, knocking itself unconscious. The man couldn"t believe his good fortune as he put the rabbit in his game bag. Every day for the rest of his life, he came back and watched the stump, waiting for this to happen again.

When we participate in some activity, especially something we"ve done before, we often have big expectations about what will happen, how we will feel, and what the end result will be. When all does not go as expected, we are disappointed. Usually we then look around for someone or something to blame.

Fred calls himself a recovering expecter. He"s had the most trouble with expectations in his friendships. Expecting to match the intimacy, equality, and intensity of a meaningful childhood friendship has gotten in the way of his adult
friendships. He has had to learn to approach each friend with an open heart and not burden the relationship with his previous experience.

Aight folks time to lay back and relax, because today I'm going to tell you the dramatic true story of what happened when some Japanese scientists decided to re-create the historic discovery of the law of gravity.

As yoll know, this incident occurred in an English orchard in 1666, when, according to legend, Sir.Isaac Newton, the brilliant mathematician, fell out of a tree and landed on an apple. No, hang on. Upon reviewing the videotape, I see that in fact the apple fell out of the tree and landed on Newton.

Had this occurred today, of course, Newton would have simply put on a foam neck brace and sued everybody within a radius of 125 miles. But those were primitive times, and Newton was forced to settle for discovering the law of gravity, which states: "A dropped object will fall with an acceleration of 32 feet per sec, and if it is your wallet, it will make every effort to land in a friggin public toilet" don't ask me how.

Later on, Newton also invented calculus, which can be defined as "the branch of mathematics that is so scary it causes everybody to stop studying mathematics" including yours truly.

That's the whole point of calculus. At colleges and universities, on the first day of calculus class, the professors go to the board and write huge, incomprehensible "equations" that they make up right on the spot, knowing that this will cause all the students to drop the course and never return to the mathematics class again.

This frees the professors to spend the rest of the year playing cards and regaling one another with hilarious stories about the ''mathematical symbols'' they've invented over the years. (Remember the time Professor Arul Mariadoss drew a 'cosine derivative' that was actually a picture of a octopus?)

Yes, Newton made many contributions to science, but gravity was definitely his biggest. That's why a group of Japanese researchers decided, as an international goodwill project, to re-create the original discovery, using an apple tree that was descended from the original Newton tree.

I found out about this project in an article. The article states that in August 1996, researchers at the Construction Ministry's Public Works Research Institute in Arai, Japan, received a sapling descended from the original Newton tree. This sapling, according to the story, came from the U.S. Commerce Department's National Institute of Standards and Technology, or NIST, which is in charge of weights and measures (so if your pants don't fit the way they used to, this is the agency to complain to).

You might be curious as to why a U.S. government agency would be providing Newton saplings, lemme explain:

The original Newton tree -- for simplicity's sake, let's call it ''Hob'' -- died in 1814. But before Hob went to the Big Orchard in the Sky, cuttings were taken, and over the years these cuttings became trees, and cuttings were taken from those, and so now there are genetically identical offspring -- let's call them ''Hobbits'' -- all over the world.

One Hobbit lives at the NIST facility. It produces apples, but not many; and the reason (I am not making any of this up) is coz it is "a very shy fruiter."

The story gets a little murky at this point, but apparently the sapling sent to Japan for the historic re-creation of Newton's discovery was grown from a seed from one of the NIST Hobbit apples.

This is significant because if the sapling came from a seed, as opposed to a cutting, it is probably not a pure Hob descendant. It is stated, ''the original flower was almost certainly pollinated by some other tree.'' (I say Trees are total sluts this way.)

But let's not be picky. The important thing is that the Japanese researchers had a sapling that was in some way connected to the original historic hob. According to ARTICLE, their plan was to videotape the exact moment when the very first apple fell.

The sapling was planted, and eventually it produced a single apple. The researchers set up a video camera. All was in readiness as, day by day, the apple grew riper and riper, getting closer and closer to the big moment. And then, finally, it happened: A local resident, who knew nothing about any of this, wandered by, saw the apple, and ate it.

So the researchers never did get to videotape the apple falling in a historic manner, although the article states that, ''they did get scenes of the man munching on the apple.'' The man is quoted as saying, "It just tasted really bad."

But this does not mean the project was a waste of time. Often, in science, so-called "failures" produce the greatest discoveries. And this project resulted in a discovery whose value to humanity cannot be overemphasized. I refer, of course, to the fact that ''Shy Fruiter and the Saplings'' would be a great name for a rock band.

It is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all,
I hold it true, whatever befall
Pain i feel when am alone the most

Things don't go the way we plan
You have to take what's in your own two hands
May be i expect too much feeling the end is near
Sometimes people want to go and this is what I fear

I fear you will leave me all alone
I fear i wud be left with no one to call my own
Then again I must remember its not all about me
But i do realise its the Way its meant to be

Lemme not hear your footsteps when you leave
For i cant take this sorrow and grief

One of our local TV news shows in Atlanta did a special investigative report on -- I swear -- brassiere sizes. The station promoted this report relentlessly for several days. Every few minutes, you would hear an announcer's voice saying, with an urgency appropriate for imminent nuclear attack: ''ARE YOU WEARING THE WRONG BRA SIZE?'' You would have thought that women were dropping dead in the street by the thousands as a result of improperly sized brassieres. I was becoming genuinely concerned about this problem, despite the fact that, except on very special occasions involving schnapps, I don't even ''wear'' a brassiere.

Unfortunately, although I saw dozens of promotions for this special investigative report, one of my friend who saw the report told me that it explored the troubling question of ``women wearing brassieres that were tragically about 10 sizes too small for their breasts, which left the breasts with no other choice but to spill, tragically, out of the brassiere cups into the camera lens.''

But my point here is not directly related to brassieres, although it is a lot of fun to use the word ''brassiere'' in a blog, brassiere brassiere brassiere. My point is that, pound for pound, the most dramatic and entertaining programming on television is your local TV news shows. Their only serious competition is the cable channel that, 24 hours a day, features the TV Evangelists With Hairdos The Size Of Adult Yaks. If you don't receive the Big-Haired Evangelists channel, you need to march right down to your cable company and throw rocks through the windows until you get it, because these people are way more entertaining than any space alien you will ever see on ``Star Trek.''

My favorite is a woman with a gigantic mound of hair colored exactly the same designer shade as Bazooka brand bubble gum. Perhaps this fact explains why, almost every time I tune in, this woman is weeping. Her tear ducts must be as big as volleyballs. Using the standard evangelical measurement of Gallons of Weepage Per Broadcast (GWPB), this woman could very well be threatening the seemingly unbreakable records set by Hall-of-Famer Tammy Faye Bakker. I would pay serious money to see a Weep-Off between these two great performers.

But as entertaining as these shows are, their message tends to be somewhat repetitive (''God loves you! So send us money!''). Whereas on your local TV news shows, they're always surprising you with dramatic new issues that you should be nervous about. Often these involve ordinary consumer items that, when subjected to the scrutiny of a TV news investigative report, mutate into deadly hazards. For example ``TONIGHT AT 6: YOUR DRY CLEANING CAN KILL YOU!!''

A while back, one of our Atlanta TV news shows -- I think it was different from the one that warned us about improperly fitted brassieres brassieres brassieres -- did a dramatic, heavily promoted investigative report on: frozen yogurt. This report, which seemed at least as long as ''Alien Resurrection,'' but scarier, investigated the possibility of deadly bacteria in our frozen-yogurt supply. If I understood the report correctly, there have never been any cases of any actual person actually being harmed by local frozen yogurt, but that seemed like a minor technicality. The point was: IT COULD HAPPEN! THE YOGURT OF DEATH!!

The way I have dealt with this menace is by taking the medical precaution of never eating frozen yogurt without first putting large quantities of chocolate fudge on it, on the scientific theory that the bacteria will eat the fudge and become too fat to do anything inside my body except sit around and belch. But I would not know to do this if it were not for local TV news.

I also would not know how I am supposed to feel about many stories if not for the fact that the TV news personalities make sad faces for sad stories and happy faces for happy stories. Sometimes, to make sure I understand the point, they come right out and tell me, at the end of each story, whether it was ''tragic'' or ``nice.''

FIRST PERSONALITY: What a tragic story, Bob.

SECOND PERSONALITY: Uh ... no, it wasn't.

FIRST PERSONALITY: It wasn't?

SECOND PERSONALITY: No. That was the story about dogs playing mah-jongg.

FIRST PERSONALITY: Whoops! I had it confused with the story about the plane crashing into the orphanage! Ha ha!

SECOND PERSONALITY: Ha ha! Coming up, we'll have part four of our special investigative report: ``Farts: Why do they smell bad!!.''

Well, I see i've run out of time, so that's all folks for today.

Remember to be nervous about everything. And now for these words: brassiere brassiere brassiere.

Oh sweet Angel Why do you have to leave
May your soul rest in peace
Though the moment you did not choose,
You left us all in a trice

To live and proud the land
from which you sprung.
Proud your parents
and the land you did.

Rivers of tears flow for you
wonder what more can we do
Living dead we men are
unable to stop this madness and gore

Oh sweet Angel Why do you have to leave
May your soul rest in peace

Have you ever seen a golf tournament? I have ofcourse on TV..i dont have the patience to watch it live, i luv the lush, sweet-smelling, green-glinting grass, the kind that makes you want to get naked and roll around on your back like a dog.

But the people on the golf course are not doing that. They're silent and solemn, like a church congregation, except that a lot of them are smoking cigars. They're staring intently at some tiny figures way off in the distance. Suddenly the crowd murmurs, and 500 heads jerk skyward in unison. The crowd holds its breath, waiting, waiting, and then suddenly ... PLOP ... a little white ball falls from the sky, lands in the middle of the semicircle and starts rolling. Immediately the crowd members are shouting at it angrily.

''Bite!'' they shout, spewing saliva and cigar flecks. ''BITE!!'' This is how they tell the ball they want it to stop rolling. The ball, apparently fearing for its life, stops. The crowd members applaud and cheer wildly. They're acting as though the arrival of this ball is the highlight of their lives.

Which maybe it is. These are, after all, golf fans. And this ball was personally hit by -- prepare to experience a heart seizure -- JACK NICKLAUS.

This exciting moment in sports occurred at the Doral-Ryder Open golf tournament, an event on the professional golf tour, wherein the top golfers from all over the world gather together to see who can take the longest amount of time to actually hit the ball.

I don't know about you, but when I play golf -- which I have done a total of three times in my life -- I don't waste a lot of time. I just grab a club, stride briskly to the ball, take a hearty swing, then check to see if the ball has moved from its original location. If it hasn't, I take another hearty swing, repeating this process as necessary until the ball is gone, which is my cue to get out another ball, because I know from harsh experience that I will never in a million years find the first one. I keep this up until there are no balls left, which is my cue to locate the part of the golfing facility where they sell beer. In other words, I play an exciting, nonstop-action brand of golf that would be ideal for spectators, except that most of them would be killed within minutes.

But the professional golfer, on the other hand, does not even THINK about hitting a ball until he has conducted a complete geological and meteorological survey of the situation-circling the ball warily, as though it were a terrorist device, checking it out from every possible angle, squatting and squinting, checking the wind, taking soil samples, analyzing satellite photographs, testing the area for traces of O.J. Simpson's DNA, etc. Your professional golfer takes longer to line up a six-foot putt than the Toyota corporation takes to turn raw iron ore into a Corolla.

I know that it may sound boring to watch grown men squat for minutes on end, but when you see a pro tournament in person -- when you're actually watching these world-class golfers line up their shots -- it is, in fact, UNBELIEVABLY boring. At least it was for me. I would rank it, as a spectator sport, with transmission repair.

''HIT THE BALL, ALREADY!'' is what I would have shouted at Jack Nicklaus, but I wont, because the crowd would turn on me, and my lifeless body would have been found later buried in a sand trap, covered with cigar burns, because these fans worship the golfers, and they seem to be truly fascinated by the squatting and squinting process.

The more time that passed with virtually nothing happening, the more excited the golf fans became, until finally, when Jack got ready to take the extreme step of actually hitting the ball, everybody was nearly crazy with anticipation, although nobody was making a peep, because putting is an extremely difficult and highly technical activity that -- unlike, for example, brain surgery -- must be performed in absolute silence.

And so, amid an atmosphere of tension comparable to that of a Space Shuttle launch, Jack finally bent over the ball, drew back his putter and gently tapped the ball.

''GET IN THE HOLE!'' the crowd screamed at the ball. ``GET IN THE HOLE!''

The ball, of course, did not go in the hole. Your world-class golfers miss a surprising number of short putts. Too much squatting, if you ask me.

''NO!'' shouted the crowd, when the ball stopped, maybe an inch from the hole.

Some men seemed to be near tears; some were cursing openly. These people were FURIOUS at the ball. They did not blame Jack. Jack worked HARD to line up this putt, and here this idiot ball LET HIM DOWN.

But Jack was magnanimous. He tapped the ball in, and the fans applauded wildly, as well they should have, because it is not every day that you see a person cause a little ball to roll six feet.

When Jack had acknowledged the applause, the next famous world-class golfer in his group, John Daly, began considering the many, many complex factors involved in his putt, which he will probably be ready to attempt no later than June. Let me know if he makes it. I'll be in the grass just beyond the refreshment area, rolling around like a dog.