The game of golf is an evolutionary inevitablitiy, invented by a woman. It has a very clear evolutionary function: to keep men from getting under foot. Ask any wife whose husband has retired if she likes having him around an extra 40 hours a week, and she will no doubt exclaim that while she loves her husband dearly, he gets in the way more often than the 2-year-old twin grandchilden, and she is perpetually having to invent little jobs and games and errands to keep him occupied and out from under foot. Golf is one such game.
This goes back to the days of Neanderthals. When an old Neanderthal grandpa (let's call him 'Ugh') got too slow to keep up with the group hunting mastadons and turned into a safety liability (proto-lawyers and insurance salesmen who had recently appeared on the neolithic scene were already displaying disturbingly successful adaptations), the hunting party left him behind in the cave to annoy the crap out of his but-ugly yet extremely capable wife, Mumph.
Ugh: what's this?
Mumph: put that down, you'll break it.
(Ugh picks up something else, fiddles with it for a moment)
Mumph: Leave those tyranosaurus bones where they are; i put them there for a reason.
(Ugh wanders over to another part of the cave)
Mumph: you kicked up a corner of the bear rug; fix it before i trip and kill myself on it.
(Ugh bends over to fix the rug and notices something)
Ugh: hey! there's a giant bug with a bazillion legs hiding under the rug! Cool! (begins poking centipede with stick)
Mumph: That's it! Out with you! Out! (thinking quickly) Here, if you take these two sticks and rub them together for a really long time, something neat will happen. I promise. (snickers to herself)
Ugh: Really? what?
Mumph: uh, it's a surprise. (smirks)
(two hours later)
Ugh: Mumph! Mumph! look! I invented fire! Holy shit, i'm smart!
Mumph: (rolling eyes) Here, you want to be useful? Take these pelts down to the river and bang them against the wet rocks until they're clean.
Ugh: (crestfallen) ok, sure.
Ugh: here you go.
Mumph: oh, for fuck's sake. look at them! they're ruined! Don't you know you can't bang a white pelt on a red rock? And this won't even fit the baby now!
Ugh: you just told me to bang them against the rocks. you didn't say which rocks!
Mumph: I've got an idea. why don't you get Blech and a couple sticks and see how many swings it takes you to hit a rock over the cliff? He's got terrible aim, couldn't hit the broad side of a brontosaurus from 10 feet away. That should keep you busy for a while.
Ladies and gentleman: the game of golf. An evolutionary adaptation which saved the human race from premature extinction. Of course, having watched the presidential debate last night, premature extinction is sounding better and better. Hmm. one more reason to hate golf.