Arthur was 75 years old and lived for the game of golf. It was his daily ritual, his grand escape, and his absolute obsession.
But one afternoon, he walked through the front door looking completely defeated, dragging his clubs behind him.
“That’s it,” he announced to his wife with a heavy sigh. “I’m officially hanging up my spikes. I’m quitting golf forever. My eyesight has gotten so terrible that the moment I hit the ball, it completely vanishes into thin air. I have no idea where it goes.”
His wife, feeling deeply sympathetic, poured him a hot cup of tea to comfort him. As they sat together at the kitchen table, an idea struck her.
“Darling, why don’t you take my brother out to the course tomorrow and give it just one more try?” she suggested.
Arthur groaned. “That’s a terrible idea. Your brother is 85 years old! How on earth is an 85-year-old going to help me on a golf course?”
“He might be 85,” his wife replied with a reassuring smile, “but his eyesight is absolutely flawless. He can spot a bird in a tree from a mile away.”
Eager to save his beloved hobby, Arthur decided to give it a shot. The next morning, he and his elderly brother-in-law arrived at the first tee. Arthur set up his ball, took a deep breath, and unleashed a spectacular, mighty swing. He heard the satisfying crack of the club, but as usual, the sky was just a blur.
Excited, Arthur turned to his brother-in-law and asked, “Did you see it? Did you see where the ball went?”
“Of course I saw it!” the brother-in-law boasted proudly. “I told you, my eyes are sharp as a hawk!”
Arthur beamed with relief. “Fantastic! So, where did it land?”
The brother-in-law paused, wrinkled his forehead, and muttered, “I don’t remember.”
