Ever since I was sweet-talked into attempting golf, my life is a long misery. It’s clearly a sport that was invented to test the ultimate strengths within. While it looks easy, peaceful and grandfatherly, it awakens the worst in me. Every ball lost in some pittoresque little lake wants me to whack my driver around the nearest oak tree.

Nothing kills your testosterone levels quicker than banging a tee-off towards the wrong fairway, or missing a 15 centimeter “put”. Seeing good friends effortlessly overshooting the green with a meager meter on the first shot on a par 4 just invites me to strangle them surely and slowly between the 13th and 14th hole. And then you have the pro’s that navigate their shots around the course with chirurgical precision. Urgh. On a Golf Video Game, players pointed at an impossible shot of the Tiger Woods Avatar walking on water, and miraculous saving his game with what was labeled “the Jezus Shot”.

Laughter all over. Then came the video response:

 I rest my case. I’ll do something more easy in my life. Turning water into wine or something .