He would tee it up, stand over the ball, tug at the left sleeve of his Nike shirt (there was a story in Sports Illustrated once that indicated he has a habit of tugging that sleeve before every swing) and crush that ball hundreds of yards down the fairway.

The ad went on to say that now I, too, will be able to tame the rugged courses like Pebble Beach and Augusta National. (Heck, I'd settle for a round of bogey golf at the local pitch and putt.)

But, really, this is the best news since the five-iron replaced the mashie. This ball must be amazing if it can help my miserable game. I can only assume that it will:

* roll farther when I top it off the tee;

* jiggle to rattle the weeds when I sock it out of bounds;

* repel if it gets within three feet of sand;

* float.

The ball would also have to obey basic verbal commands, like:

* get up;

* slow down;

* get right (or left, as the case may be);

* don't hit a) that man, b) that woman, c) that house, d) my car. (Not that that last line describes my golf game; I've never hit a woman with a golf ball.)

Now, with all of that working for me, I think I can finally hang with my buddy, Skip, on the golf course. You see, Skip is my very own golf guru. He's about a 7-handicap and he's constantly giving me free lessons each time we go out to play a round. Of course, he plays with me strictly out of friendship--because the only competition I can provide him on the golf course comes when we flip a coin to see who tees off first on the first hole (I usually lose that one, too).

But with Tiger Woods' golf ball, that could all change. So I took my plan to Skip.

" ... and they say that if I use this Nike brand of golf ball that I, too, can tame Pebble Beach," I told him.

He wasn't impressed.

"You couldn't tame Pebble Beach with a whip and a chair," he scoffed. "And if you use that golf ball, all it will mean is that when you hit your ball out of bounds and across the road into the cow pasture, you'll lose a more expensive golf ball."

"Oh, so what you're saying is that I probably need a new set of golf clubs, too?" I asked.

"Yes, you probably do," he agreed, "but that's not what I'm saying--that's not going to help either."

He paused, then said, "How about a lesson or two? You have the worst golf swing I've ever seen in my life!"

I was quickly getting the feeling that he didn't think I was much of a golfer.

Skip is. And he's played all the big courses like Pebble, Spyglass and Poppy Hills (my game is limited to the muni's and the pitch-and-putts).

Still, we'll go out together once or twice a year, and he'll patiently wait for me to hack my way up the fairway after hitting his majestic drive about 285 straight down the middle (it's enough to make you sick!).

But when I saw the ad about Tiger's Nike golf ball, I thought, "Finally, I'll be able to sock 'em right out there with Skip."

"Well, I hate to break the news to you," he said, "but even if it could help your game, you can't buy the golf ball that Tiger uses. Nike doesn't sell that one."

Fine.

"Well, whadaya think I should do now?" I asked Skip.

"Hmm," he said, "why don't you just start tugging on your left sleeve? Then you should be able to beat me."

You know, the next time we got out to play golf, I think I'm going to do just that... then I'm calling heads.

Want to talk? Give me a call at 408.354.3110, or write to dsparrer@svcn.com.