Colin and the source of the golf balls

The Origin

When Earth was still in its formative stages, a highly advanced race known as the Tlistas, from a distant galaxy, cultivated hard, round, white spheres. These spheres, also called balls, had diamond-like, smooth surfaces with indentations crafted using grinding tools that reflected light. The aliens used these spheres for reflection, expanding their senses and, through concentrated mental exercises, reaching higher levels of existence. Their disciplined practice, whether performed individually or in groups, was known as G-olf. Depending on their level of progress, they used different spheres and meditation techniques to achieve enlightenment.

One among them, on the verge of attaining the final level of consciousness, managed to free his sphere from the planet’s gravity, launching it into the vastness of space. Eons passed, billions of light-years were traversed, until the sphere finally entered Earth’s sphere of influence.

With a fiery tail, the ball pierced through the atmosphere, its re-entry heat further smoothing its surface. It struck the Earth, burrowing through the surface, and came to rest in the cool depths of a damp grotto.

There, the ball lay for millions of years, bathed in mineral-rich water droplets and illuminated by the occasional starlight and moonbeams that filtered through the hole it had created upon impact. A stalagmite slowly formed beneath it, shaping a natural pedestal. Over time, the ball lost its luster and became blind. Early humans, stumbling upon the cave in their search for food, believed they had discovered a divine monument and paid homage to it. They called the ball Tlist, offering tributes at the foot of the pedestal. This practice continued for thousands of years, through the ages of Neanderthals and Homo sapiens.

As human civilization evolved, the cave and its celestial relic faded into obscurity, buried beneath the tide of time and shifting beliefs.

Glenwood Heights

Colin Moray, the eccentric golf veteran of GC Glenwood Heights in Northern Scotland, was known for his fantastical tales—but also for his meticulous research as the curator of the Royal Golf Museum. When he wasn’t on the course, reveling in Scotland’s natural beauty and the elegance of the links, he spent days and nights in the museum library, scouring ancient manuscripts for clues about golf’s true origins.

One evening, buried deep in an ancient parchment, he uncovered a rough translation of a Celtic legend—possibly transcribed by St. Patrick—that recounted the religious practices of the Picts. The document spoke of a star that had fallen from the sky and embedded itself in the earth. The Picts, known for their athletic prowess, revered this sphere-like relic, just as their predecessors—the Neanderthals and earlier hominids—had done.

Colin became obsessed with the legend. According to Patrick, the Picts called the object D’eiListha, meaning The Fallen from the Sky. The legend hinted that the grotto lay in the region of Bruach na Frithe, nestled in the Black Cuillins on the Isle of Skye.

Colin had long believed that golf’s origins extended far beyond medieval pastimes. No, something divine had to be behind it. D’eiListha sounded remarkably like Titleist—a connection he could not ignore.

The Journey to Bruach na Frithe

After extensive preparations, Colin embarked on his expedition to locate the fabled grotto. His rickety Land Rover Defender carried him as far as the rugged roads would allow. From there, he proceeded on foot. True to form, he brought his golf equipment along—his trusty driver might serve as a walking stick or even a means of defense in the untamed wilderness.

The journey was arduous, winding through dense forests of towering ancient trees, over logs and jagged stones, across streams, and up treacherous mountain paths. The damp air carried the scent of moss and earth, reminiscent of the Louisiana swamps. Colin half-expected to see a band of blue-painted Picts emerge from the shadows.

Trekking through the wilderness, he tapped his Ping club on stones to ward off vipers and other lurking creatures. He wished he had packed a lighter bag; his Bennington was chafing his shoulders. Finally, the path opened into a vast green expanse, leading toward the imposing rocks of Bruach na Frithe. He had to reach them before nightfall—his shelter for the night lay within the legendary cave. “This stretch of land looks just like a golf course,” he mused. “Could this be the birthplace of the game?”

By dusk, Colin arrived at the foot of a towering rock face. Despite his academic skepticism, a deep-rooted Scottish superstition made him uneasy. As twilight deepened, he ascended a rusty iron ladder toward a bluish light emanating from above.

In the Cave of D’eiListha

As he climbed, Colin noticed ancient scribbles on the walls—some protective runes, others indecipherable. Scattered bones hinted at tragic fates suffered by past explorers. But there it was—the fabled grotto.

Setting down his golf bag, two balls rolled onto the smooth stone floor. This was where he would rest. He shivered as he gazed at a spectral figure near the top of the stairs. Was it real, or an illusion? It didn’t move, its translucent form shimmering in the cave’s eerie light. Taking it as a good omen, Colin lay down and drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Morning light revealed a stunning sight. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of glassy, golf ball-like spheres littered the floor. Over time, they had fused, creating a polished surface. At the heart of the chamber lay a blue, glowing spring, its swirling mist sparkling like diamond dust.

Instinctively, Colin reached for his Odyssey putter, positioned a ball, and with a skillful tap, sent it rolling into the water. The ground rumbled. The water and balls receded, revealing a raised pedestal. Atop it rested the relic, crackling with energy, shooting electric sparks in all directions.

A strange force urged him forward. Hesitant but compelled, he grasped the sphere.

An unfamiliar energy coursed through him. A rush of knowledge—millions of years of G-olf experience—flooded his mind. The wisdom of the Tlistas imprinted itself upon him. Concentration, humility, focus—his golf game would never be the same.

He held the sphere before his face, squinting at its shimmering surface. His mind expanded, his consciousness elevated... and then, overwhelmed, he collapsed into darkness.

The Return

Days later, back at GC Glenwood Heights, Colin unveiled the ball in the seniors' lounge. It still shimmered, shifting between crystal-clear and milky. Its texture softened, as if alive, yet retained an unearthly brilliance.

Colin spoke little of his discovery—who would believe him? Instead, he casually mentioned securing a patent. This ball, he claimed, would revolutionize golf, promising unparalleled performance. He considered a name: Titleist—a homage to D’eiListha and the celestial beings of St. Patrick’s legend.

The rest, as they say, is history. Titleist became the leading brand in golf. Players worldwide swore by the technology of the Tlistas. And to this day, should time allow, many golfers still scour the rough in search of a stray ball—perhaps one of Colin’s... or something far older.

And as for the sacred grotto?

Since Colin’s fateful journey, no one has ever found it again.