Daily Jokes Comedy Funny Humor » Sports Jokes

The Lost Ball

sahil — Thu, 23 Jun 2011 10:10:43 +0000

Small Boy (walking round links with his father): “Daddy, here’s a ball for you.”

Father: “Where did you get that from?”

Small Boy: “It’s a lost ball, Daddy.”

Father: “Are you sure it’s a lost ball?”

Small Boy: “Yes, Daddy; they’re still looking for it.”

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Snowboarding lesson

sahil — Tue, 07 Jun 2011 08:50:19 +0000

Snowboarding Lessons When you’re 47 years old, you sometimes hear a small voice inside you that says: “Just because you’ve reached middle age, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t take on new challenges and seek new adventures. You get only one ride on this crazy carousel we call life, and by golly you should make the most of it.” This is the voice of Satan. I know this because recently, on a mountain in Idaho, I listened to this voice, and as a result my body feels as though it has been used as a trampoline by the Budweiser Clydesdales. I am currently on an all-painkiller diet. “I’ll have a black coffee and 250 Advil tablets” is a typical breakfast order for me these days. This is because I went snowboarding. For those of you who, for whatever reason, such as a will to live, do not participate in downhill winter sports, I should explain that snowboarding is an activity that is popular with people who do not feel that regular skiing is lethal enough. These are of course young people, fearless people, people with 100 percent synthetic bodies who can hurtle down a mountainside at 50 miles per hour and knock down mature trees with their faces and then spring to their feet and go, “Cool.” People like my son. He wanted to try snowboarding, and I thought it would be good to learn with him, because we can no longer ski together. We have a fundamental difference in technique: He skis via the Downhill Method, in which you ski down the hill; whereas I ski via the Breath-Catching Method, in which you stand sideways on the hill, looking as athletic as possible without actually moving muscles (this could cause you to start sliding down the hill). If anybody asks if you’re OK, you say, “I’m just catching my breath!” in a tone of voice that suggests that at any moment you’re going to swoop rapidly down the slope; whereas in fact you’re planning to stay right where you are, rigid as a statue, until the spring thaw. At night, when the Downhillers have all gone home, we Breath-Catchers will still be up there, clinging to the mountainside, chewing on our parkas for sustenance. So I thought I’d take a stab at snowboarding, which is quite different from skiing. In skiing, you wear a total of two skis, or approximately one per foot, so you can sort of maintain your balance by moving your feet, plus you have poles that you can stab people with if they make fun of you at close range. Whereas with snowboarding, all you get is one board, which is shaped like a giant tongue depressor and manufactured by the Institute of Extremely Slippery Things. Both of your feet are strapped firmly to this board, so that if you start to fall, you can’t stick a foot out and catch yourself. You crash to the ground like a tree and lie there while skiers swoop past and deliberately spray snow on you. Skiers hate snowboarders. It’s a generational thing. Skiers are (and here I am generalizing) middle-aged Republicans wearing designer space suits; snowboarders are defiant young rebels wearing deliberately drab clothing that is baggy enough to cover the snowboarder plus a major appliance. Skiers like to glide down the slopes in a series of graceful arcs; snowboarders like to attack the mountain, slashing, spinning, tumbling, going backward, blasting through snowdrifts, leaping off cliffs, getting their noses pierced in midair, etc. Skiers view snowboarders as a menace; snowboarders view skiers as Elmer Fudd. I took my snowboarding lesson in a small group led by a friend of mine named Brad Pearson, who also once talked me into jumping from a tall tree while attached only to a thin rope. Brad took us up on a slope that offered ideal snow conditions for the novice who’s going to fall a lot: Approximately seven flakes of powder on top of an 18-foot-thick base of reinforced concrete. You could not dent this snow with a jackhammer. (I later learned, however, that you COULD dent it with the back of your head.) We learned snowboarding via a two step method: Step One: Watching Brad do something.Step Two: Trying to do it ourselves. I was pretty good at Step One. The problem with Step Two was that you had to stand up on your snowboard, which turns out to be a violation of at least five important laws of physics.I’d struggle to my feet, and I’d be wavering there and then the Physics Police would drop a huge chunk of gravity on me, and WHAM my body would hit the concrete snow, sometimes bouncing as much as a foot. “Keep your knees bent!” Brad would yell, helpfully. Have you noticed that whatever sport you’re trying to learn, some earnest person is always telling you to keep your knees bent? As if that would solve anything. I wanted to shout back, “Forget my Knees! Do Something About these Gravity Chunks!” Needless to say my son had no trouble at all. None. In minutes he was cruising happily down the mountain; you could actually see his clothing getting baggier. I, on the other hand, spent most of my time lying on my back, groaning, while space-suited Republicans swooped past and sprayed snow on me. If I hadn’t gotten out of there, they’d have completely covered me; I now realize that the small hills you see on ski slopes are formed around the bodies of 47-year-olds who tried to learn snowboarding. So I think, when my body heals, I’ll go back to skiing. Maybe sometime you’ll see me out on the slopes, catching my breath. Please throw me some food.

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Short Cowboy jokes

sahil — Mon, 06 Jun 2011 06:58:11 +0000

Q: What do you call a drug ring in Dallas?A: A huddle. Q: Four Dallas Cowboys in a car, who’s driving?A: The police. Q: Why can’t Michael Irvin get into a huddle on the field anymore?A: It is a parole violation for him to associate with known felons. Related posts:Short Cowboy jokes Q: What do [...] Related posts:

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Play as James Bond

sahil — Sun, 05 Jun 2011 09:04:55 +0000

Egotistical Harry was always reminding people that he played semi-pro baseball.”I was the James Bond type of player,” he told his friends. “I had all sorts of tricks to confuse the opposition.”"Batted .007,” his wife added. Related posts:BEDROOM GOLF * Each player shall furnish his own equipment for play.... THE GOLFER AND THE BARN A [...] Related posts:

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Question answer 08

sahil — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 19:43:07 +0000

Which goal keeper can jump higher than a crossbar?
All of them, a crossbar can’t jump!

Why do grasshoppers not go to many football matches?
They prefer cricket matches!

What stories are told by basketball players?
Tall stories!

Who won the race between two balls of string?
They we’re tied!

Why are football players never asked for dinner?
Because they’re always dribbling!

Why did the footballer hold his boot to his ear?
Because he liked sole music!

What tea do footballers drink?
Penaltea!

Where do footballers dance?
At a football!

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Destroy an opponent

sahil — Sun, 17 Apr 2011 17:37:49 +0000

The Center for Opponent Neutralization (C.O.N.)

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Are you tired of always getting beat 6-0, 6-0 by that arrogant tennis-playing friend of yours with his killer serve?

Haven’t you had enough of that annoying golf buddy who always seems to shoot in the low 80′s against you?

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Three Golfers

sahil — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 08:37:48 +0000

Three impressive-looking Jewish men with beards are out playing golf one day. The first hits the ball very hard and long, but it hooks and goes into a lake. “That’s okay,” he sighs. Then he raises his driver, parts the water, and walks across the dry lake bed to hit the ball onto the green.

The second hooks one toward the lake, where it floats gently on the surface. The second golfer walks over on top of the water to hit the ball onto the green.

Finally the oldest man advances to the tee and strikes his ball with a mighty swing. This ball also hooks, and it lands on a lily pad in the middle of the lake. Very soon a large bird picks up the ball, carries it over the green, and drops it into the hole.

“Quit your frowning, Moses,” said the second golfer to the first.

“Yeah, but Jesus,” the first golfer calmly replies, ” this is exactly why I don’t like playing golf with your Father.”

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THE GOLFER AND THE BARN

sahil — Fri, 15 Apr 2011 20:23:04 +0000

A man hit his drive behind a barn and could not see the green. His wife said, “I’ll open the doors on both ends of the barn and you can hit the ball through the barn to the green.” When the husband did this he hit his wife in the temple and killed her on the spot. About six months later the husband was playing golf with a friend and sure enough he hit his ball behind the same barn. His friend said, “I’ll open the doors on both ends of the barn and you can hit the ball through the barn to the green.” The husband said, “I don’t think I can do this and anyway I hate this hole.” His friend said, “It’s not that hard and why do you hate this hole?” The husband said, after bowing his head, “The last time I played this hole I got an 8!”

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Golf Ball Hunt

sahil — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 17:06:09 +0000

One fine day, Jim and Bob are out golfing. Jim slices his ball deep into a wooded ravine. He grabs his 8-iron and proceeds down the embankment into the ravine in search of his ball.
The brush is quite thick, but Jim searches diligently and suddenly he spots something shiny. As he gets closer, he realizes that the shiny object is in fact an 8-iron in the hands of a skeleton lying near an old golf ball.
Jim calls out to his golfing partner in an agitated voice, “Hey Bob, come here, I got trouble down here.”

Bob comes running over to the edge of the ravine and calls out, “What’s the matter Jim?”

Jim shouts back, “Throw me my 7-iron! You can’t get out of here with an 8-iron.”

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BIKER IN HELL

sahil — Tue, 12 Apr 2011 17:02:34 +0000

Seems there was this nasty biker riding his Harley down the icy highway one cold day in Colorado, when he spotted a cat lying in the middle of the road. The biker thought to himself, “I’ll cut that cat in two,” and he bore down on it hard. As he got closer, though, he suddenly realized that it was not a cat, but a large piece of metal lying in the road. Too late! His front wheel plowed into it and he was sent flying over the handlebars and onto the road at 80 MPH. When he arrived in Hell, the person welcoming the new arrivals was the Devil himself. As the Devil shook the ex-biker’s hand, he asked mockingly, “So, how do you like it here?” The bad-ass biker replied, “Man, this is one COOL place!” The old Devil was just a little miffed at this upstart, so he decided to crank up the thermostat a notch. The next day, the Devil sought out the biker and asked, “So, how do you like it now?” The biker responded by saying, “This is great! Reminds me of those drug runs to Sonora during the hot afternoons in August.” Naturally, the Devil was only more angered, and cranked the heat up as far as it could go. The next day, Hell was unbelievable. Even some demons were melting into the floor. The Devil again found the biker, and asked how he was holding up. Undaunted, the biker proclaimed, “It’s almost as hot as the time I beat and robbed those vacationers out in Death Valley. I love it!” By now the Devil was just furious, so he turned the thermostat all the way down. Way down! As far down as could ever be imagined. The next morning, he tracked down the biker again and asked, “OK smart-ass, how do you like it NOW?” With icicles hanging from every part of his body, the biker shivered and chattered, “W-w-w-what h-h-hhappened, d-d-d-did the Broncos f-f-finally w-w-win the Super Bowl?”

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