A Catholic Monthly Magazine

Can You Bear It?

About four or five years ago I was standing in a ticket line at the airport and a fellow in line parallel to mine had a golf bag slung over his shoulder. Since the line was long and airline ticketing is a slow process at best, we struck up a conversation.

He brightened when I admired his golf bag, and he proudly stated that he was on the PGA Tour. Then he turned to me and asked the question all golfers ask: “Do you play?”

I shook my head, “I used to, but I quit because I wasn’t very good. I shot consistently in the lower seventies.”

There was a long, low in-take of breath, then “The lower seventies?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“Consistently?” he queried admiringly.

“Every hole.” I confessed.

A lawyer, doctor, and preacher went hunting together. When a deer broke cover they all fired at the exact same moment and the animal dropped.

However, there was only one bullet hole and they didn’t know which of them shot it. So they took it to the registration centre, not knowing who should tag it.

The agent said, “Let me look at the deer. Sometimes I can figure it out.”

He asked a few questions, examined the deer carefully, and declared, “The preacher shot this buck!”

Amazed, they all asked how he knew. Stooping down he pointed out the wound, “See here. It went in one ear and out the other.”

My appointment as the new parish priest coincided with the church’s appeal for aid for victims of a hurricane.

Unfortunately, on my first Sunday in the parish, the centre page of the church bulletin was accidentally omitted. So members of the congregation read from the bottom of the second page to the top of the last page:

“Welcome to Fr Andrew Doyle ... the worst disaster to hit the area in this century. The full extent of the tragedy is not yet known.”

When my Doctor asked me if I led an active life I told him about my day:

“Well, yesterday afternoon, I waded across the edge of a deep lake, barely escaped from a wild pig in the heavy brush, marched along a treacherous trail up and down a mountain, stood in a patch of poison ivy, crawled out of quicksand, and barely escaped jumping away from an aggressive brown snake.”

Inspired by my story, the Doctor said, “You must be an awesome outdoorsman!”

“No,” I replied, “I’m just a hopeless  golfer.”

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