After his weekly game of golf, John went home, cursing all the way home at
the sand traps as usual. He never could get out of one in under a dozen
strokes. It ruined his game, since he played spectacularly well in all
other conditions... but one single sand trap could put his score in the
triple digits.
It being Wednesday, he had to go shopping, but he was in a foul mood.
Luckily, his usual tea and some buttered scones helped him relax somewhat.
(Yes, in fact, he had always wanted to be a lumberjack. Why do
you ask?)
He sipped the tea, containing honey freshly collected from his own apiary,
from a cup decorated with bees, on a matching saucer, with his scones on a
matching plate. Of course, these matched his clothes as well (as if normal
golfing clothes aren't hideous enough), and most of the decor of his
house. Indeed, he was such a collector (and proud displayer) of anything
to do with bees, that many of his associates thought him rather
obsessed.
After shopping, he parked in his garage, and passed by his workshop.
Inspiration struck. He decided to invent a new golf club, that would help
him get out of sand traps better. After all, he had tried dozens of
different kinds of the traditional "wedges", and none did him
any good.
For months, he analyzed and researched and built prototypes and tested
them. Most wound up tossed into a water hazard, wrapped around a tree, or
just plain broken. Finally, he made one that would do the trick. Every
time he landed in a sand trap, one stroke, or at most two, with this new
club, would get him out of it, and land his ball right where he wanted
it.
Of course, eventually one of his foursome (that's golf foursome;
get your mind out of the gutter, those are in bowling!), Richard Roe,
suggested marketing this marvelous new club. He had several meetings with
assorted sporting goods makers, including many that specialized in golf,
but there was always one awkward moment, that went something like
this:
"So, Mr. Doe, what do you call this club?"
"I call it my sand club."
"No, I mean like a model name. It needs a catchy name. You
know, like the Big Bertha drivers."
"Well, can't you think of one?"
"No, sorry, not until you sign on with us."
"And then, of course, if I don't like the name you think up,
it's too late for me to exercise any control. Right?"
"Well, usually, yes. We might be able to work around it, but..."
<shrug>
So, he sat and thought about different ways to name
it.
- He could put a celebrity name on it, maybe calling it the Tiger
Woods Sand Club... but a celebrity would want a lot of money up
front for use of his name, so he discarded that idea.
- He could make it imply that the wielder had great prowess, like,
say, The Sand Genius. He filed that thought away for later
consideration.
- He could imply that it had magical powers, like maybe The Sand
Sorceror. What with how interest in magick (i.e., what some folks
define as "manipulation of reality in accordance with
will", as opposed to stage magic, spelled without
the k, or prestidigitation) was enjoying a revival, he filed that
thought away too.
- He could give it a name that describes its function, such as maybe
The Extractor. He couldn't come up with anything that did that,
also mentioned the sand so as to be more precise, and still sounded
good, but he filed that thought away too.
- He could make a sort of play on words, such as Sand Trapper, but he
figured, people who dress in clothes that silly-looking and don't
laugh at each other, can't possibly have any sense of humor, so he
discarded that thought too.
Eventually he gave up for the day.
At the start of next week's game, he asked for some help in that
department from the rest of his foursome. Midway through, one of the
others, Joe Shmoe, got stuck in a sand trap, and was having a devil of a
time getting out of it with his usual club. John lent him his new club,
and Joe was out of the trap and on the green on the very next stroke,
just three yards from the cup. In his excitement, Joe forgot to switch
clubs, but found that John's new invention worked very well also for
putting the ball right into the hole.
The next partner, Ferdinand Feghoot the Forty-Third, noticed this. When
he got his ball onto the green, he said to Joe, "Let me borrow that
bee-nut putter sand wedge!"
