Funny Golf Sayings Novels & Stories

As much as she enlightened their lives, they enriched hers tenfold. “Thank you,” Tracey said, holding onto Chloe’s hands tightly. “Thank you for spending time with her and being her friend.” They hugged again and Tracey slipped into Caitlyn’s room, leaving Chloe staring after her. The little white ball arced through the air and veered off the fairway and into the rough. “Fuck my life,” Declan growled before turning to his friends and raising an eyebrow. “Why the fuck are we doing this again?” “Because golf is supposed to be a gentleman’s game,” Brian said, “and we’re gentlemen.”

Alexander Sunday morning greeted me with perfect golfing weather: clear skies, mild temperature, and just enough breeze to make things interesting. It was the kind of day that almost made me forget the past week's chaos. I lined up my shot on the third hole, feeling the familiar weight of the club in my hands. The ball sailed through the air in a perfect arc, landing just shy of the green. "Not bad," Anthony said, leaning on his club. "But watch this." His swing was too aggressive, sending the ball veering right into a sand trap. I couldn't help but smirk.

As it landed, the pit flashed with neon lights. I raised an eyebrow, amused. "Rhythm? I thought this was all about brute force and precision." Timothy smirked at me. "It's a delicate dance, my friend." As the game progressed, it became evident that Timothy's golf skills were far from impressive. He’d just been lucky the first couple of tries. His swings were erratic, often sending the ball veering off-course or, in some cases, missing it entirely. I couldn't help but burst into laughter at his comical attempts.

I step forward next, adjusting my grip around the club before swinging, and the ball misses the mark by several inches. “Rusty?” he asks, the hint of mockery unmistakable. I ignore him. For the next several holes, he keeps the lead—and makes sure I know it—while I struggle to find my rhythm again. My movements feel slightly off, but slowly the muscle memory begins returning, and each swing grows steadier, each shot landing closer to where I want it. I start catching up, and the comments begin quietly, muttering just loud enough for me to hear. At one point, he makes a remark about poor rich boys who never learned how to golf properly, and that lands harder than it should.

Given the kind of man he was, it seemed impossible to imagine. "Aha!" I suddenly exclaimed, my eyes snapping open with excitement. "Golf," I declared confidently, pointing as if I’d cracked the code. Nicholas almost hissed through his teeth, his tone sharp. "I'm not an old man, Sunshine." "You're almost 35," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "Technically, I’m still in my thirties," he countered, raising a brow. "Just give it another five years, and your waist will start thanking you," I teased, barely suppressing a giggle as I watched an ugly frown twist his face.

JULIAN’S POV The loud crack of Aaron’s golf club echoed across the quiet course as the ball soared cleanly through the morning air. “Damn,” he muttered, lowering the club. “That one felt good.” I barely looked up from where I stood near the golf cart, adjusting my glove. “You say that every time.” “Because I’m talented.” I snorted“You’re mediocre at best.” Aaron scoffed. “And yet somehow I’m still beating you.” “You’ve been keeping score?” I asked dryly.

"Bloody vultures. Waiting for us to die. Disgraceful, villains not heirs." We laughed all the way to the first tee. I’ll give it Mason. Man deserved a fucking Oscar. Twice I watched him deliberately leave birdie putts inches short. Even if the face he made behind their backs was priceless. I did my part too…sliced one drive that should never have left the fairway. Missed an eagle opportunity. Even fluffed a bunker shot badly enough that Dad looked positively delighted. By the eighteenth hole...The old men had beaten us by two strokes. They celebrated like they'd won the Masters. Gordon looked ten years younger. Edward wouldn’t stop smiling and practically floated into the clubhouse.

I asked him. The five-hole golf trial was something we used to play before the wall of business rose between us. We would set up five golf balls, each assigned to a hole, and make sure every ball found its mark. The winner would say whatever they wanted and the loser would be made to do something hilarious as a forfeit. He gave me a shy smile. His expression flickered before he composed himself again. I arched a brow at him, the memory of what we had done together still vivid.

I reminded him. He cleared his throat multiple times. “You haven’t mentioned this for years.” “Well, I didn’t see the need to until now,” I took his golf club and hit the ball far into the sky. “One funny thing about this sport is the ball may go so high into the sky that it might get lost, but if you get the right angle, it will go into the hole, no matter how high it goes.” “You’re a smart man. So, this is the right angle and the right time. But what is your target? Me? Sabrina?”

Before you know it, there were twelve of them playing. Bryson, being not very good at golf, took the hit and lost by a clear mile. Six weeks later and he still hadn’t lived it down. From what I understand, by the end of the eighteen holes, the boys were calling him ‘hole in none’ – started by Jace, of course. Bryson really was a sore loser and didn’t take it lightly when he wasn’t very good at something. “Bryson’s way too funny,” I chuckled, tickling Cameron at the same time.