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The story of golf, as related to me by a born Scotsman and master storyteller - There once was a village idiot who grew bored with drunkenly meandering about town all day, so one day as he was walking with his stick, he smacked a rock with it and thought "well, thats a bit of fun"
But pretty soon the villagers grew tired of the idiot, his rocks were hitting people, hitting their houses and so they said "get out of here and dont come back, idiot"
So across the fields he went, smacking his rock as he went, when one day his rock fell into a ground squirrel hole, well, he thought this added an exciting new twist to this game he had since dubbed "smiting the stone"
So on he went across the field, looking for holes to smack his rock into, pretty soon he came to another village, and as he passed through, that villages idiot noticed him and asked if he could join him in smiting the stone... but soon they were thrown out, just like the last village.
So on they went across the fields, and as they passed through the next village, another idiot thought this all looked like great fun and so he joined them, and again they were thrown out, and on across the fields to the next village they went, collecting idiots as they went, enthralled were they all with smiting stones into squirrel holes.
Soon every village idiot in Scotland was playing smite the stone, and the rest as they say... is history.
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