A man steps into the confessional and begins, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“What is your sin, my son?” the priest asks.
“Well,” the man says, “I used some terrible language this week, and I feel awful about it.”
“When did you use this awful language?” the priest inquires.
“I was out golfing,” the man explains. “I hit an absolutely perfect drive—looked like it was going to clear 250 yards—but then, out of nowhere, it smacked right into a phone line hanging over the fairway and dropped straight to the ground, barely making it 100 yards.”
“Ah,” the priest nods knowingly. “Is that when you swore?”
“No, Father,” the man replies.
“Then what happened?”
“Well, right after that, a squirrel darted out from the bushes, grabbed my ball in its mouth, and took off running.”
The priest leans in. “And that is when you swore?”
“No, not yet,” says the man. “Because just as the squirrel was making its escape, an eagle swooped down, snatched it up in its talons, and soared into the sky with my ball still in the squirrel’s mouth!”
The priest, now intrigued, asks, “Surely, that’s when you swore?”
“Nope,” the man says. “Because as the eagle was flying over the green, the squirrel squirmed, dropped my ball, and it fell perfectly toward the hole.”
The priest’s eyes widen. “And then you swore?”
“Not quite,” the man continues. “The ball hit a tree, bounced through some bushes, ricocheted off a rock, rolled through the sand trap, and stopped just six inches from the cup.”
The priest lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “You missed the putt, didn’t you?”
“What is your sin, my son?” the priest asks.
“Well,” the man says, “I used some terrible language this week, and I feel awful about it.”
“When did you use this awful language?” the priest inquires.
“I was out golfing,” the man explains. “I hit an absolutely perfect drive—looked like it was going to clear 250 yards—but then, out of nowhere, it smacked right into a phone line hanging over the fairway and dropped straight to the ground, barely making it 100 yards.”
“Ah,” the priest nods knowingly. “Is that when you swore?”
“No, Father,” the man replies.
“Then what happened?”
“Well, right after that, a squirrel darted out from the bushes, grabbed my ball in its mouth, and took off running.”
The priest leans in. “And that is when you swore?”
“No, not yet,” says the man. “Because just as the squirrel was making its escape, an eagle swooped down, snatched it up in its talons, and soared into the sky with my ball still in the squirrel’s mouth!”
The priest, now intrigued, asks, “Surely, that’s when you swore?”
“Nope,” the man says. “Because as the eagle was flying over the green, the squirrel squirmed, dropped my ball, and it fell perfectly toward the hole.”
The priest’s eyes widen. “And then you swore?”
“Not quite,” the man continues. “The ball hit a tree, bounced through some bushes, ricocheted off a rock, rolled through the sand trap, and stopped just six inches from the cup.”
The priest lets out a deep sigh, shaking his head. “You missed the putt, didn’t you?”