Golf lines trade on the game's own vocabulary — holes, strokes, grip, the fore-warning — and most of it arrives pre-loaded with innuendo. The clubhouse bar after a round is the natural venue, when scorecards are settled and everyone is friendlier than they were on the 14th.
Handicap jokes are the connoisseur's choice: they flatter the listener's game while setting up the punchline, which is more craft than most openers manage.
Golf's social architecture does half the work: four hours of shared frustration followed by a licensed bar is practically a matchmaking service. The material lands best when the round is over and the worst holes have become funny; opening on the tee box, mid-swing, is a men's-club citation waiting to happen.
The country-club circuit has cousins: tennis lines for the other whites-and-etiquette sport, and the broader sports collection when the clubs stay in the car.

