There have been many things muttered at a golf ball down the years as it leaves the club face and hurtles towards distant territories and ventures forth to explore uncharted terrains. 

“Oh for the love of ...”, tends to be a popular shriek by the diarist when he swipes at said ba’ with all the elegance of a startled farmhand thrashing at a scurrying rat with a rake. 

As the great American doyen of golf scribbling, Dan Jenkins, once wrote: “The golf ball has no sense at all, which is why it has to be given stern lectures constantly, especially during the act of putting.” 

There are some hattered hackers who just about require a lectern and a collection of slides to get the ruddy thing in the hole.

Over in the US of A, phrases such as “be good baby” get used in wild abundance as a player nervously examines a bold approach over the water and tries to cajole this little dimpled sphere to the safety of the green and away from the myriad perils that lurk elsewhere.

In the grand traditions of talking balls, PGA Tour star Justin Thomas hurled a new one into the pot at the recent Genesis Open in California. 
With his tee-shot at the par-3 sixth homing in on the flag, Thomas, in 
a state of growing golfing arousal, peered on as this high velocity orb with an ionomeric casing layer and urethane elastomer cover floated through the air, while delivering the rather kinky utterance, “talk dirty to me.”

With this is mind, the diarist now looks forward to smooth-talking Monty whispering sweet nothings to his balls as the 2018 campaign unravels.

The diarist has always been fascinated by archaeology. Let’s face it, most of the jokes on this page have been dug up from days of yore. 

There was excitement in the seek-and-thee-shall-find world of intricate excavation this week when a pair of Roman boxing gloves, dating to around AD120, were discovered at Hadrian’s Wall. 

This reminded me of Rockin’ Robin Deacon, the man once dubbed Britain’s worst boxer, who lost 51 successive fights before finally winning. “I’m f***in’ back,” he roared. 

Deacon’s win was such a rarity, he was immediately brought under the management of English Heritage. 

You have to speculate  to accumulate. British bobsleigh driver Toby Olubi funded his training by winning £12,000 on Noel Edmonds’ guessing game, Deal or No Deal.

Apparently, the hirsute, coiffured, heavily-lacquered Edmonds has offered his assistance to the SFA beaks in their hunt for a new chief executive.
We expect to see 

Mr Blobby being unveiled on the Hampden steps soon.

To Brazil, where there were more cards flying around than an explosion at the Clinton’s depository. 

A crash, bang, wallop encounter between bitter rivals Bahia and Vitoria led to nine players being sent off. But that’s nowt.

In Paraguay, 20 players were once red-carded during a frightful affair between Sportivo Ameliano and General Caballero. So now we know where Wullie Collum served his refereeing apprenticeship . . .

Dressed for success? Well, not quite. There’s no such thing as a good, honest fashion faux pas these days. Thanks to PR gurus and their honeyed phrases, it’s now known as a “wardrobe malfunction”. 

Scantily-clad figure skater Gabriella Papadakis suffered such a sartorial scunnering on the PyeongChang ice when her dress came undone at the start of her Winter Olympics routine and one of her breasts was left keeking out. 

“I felt it right away and prayed,” said Papadakis of this untimely emergence. 

Hats off though, she kept her cool when it really was nippy oot . . .

Talk about a Belted Galloway. The news that Queen of the South custodian Sam Henderson had been injured by a cow on the family farm led to so many chortling, coo-related references you could have flogged them all at the Dumfries Livestock Mart. 

Henderson’s bovine battering saw him join a distinguished list of absurd injuries. 

In the 1970s, Norway’s Svein Grondalen had to withdraw from an international match after colliding with a moose when out jogging while Scottish keeper Chic Brodie had his career ended when a pitch-invading dug clattered into him and jiggered his knee. 

“The dog may have been small, but it just happened to be solid,” winced Brodie.