The Art of Finding Your Lost Ball in a New England Fall

A Dad Bods Survival Guide

There are few things more humbling in life than:

1. Your kid asking if you can still do a push-up.

2. Your wife reminding you the “medium” polo is more of a “wishful thinking” polo.

3. And standing in the middle of a New England fairway in October, staring into a forest of red, orange, and yellow leaves, realizing your $4 Pro V1 just vanished like it owed somebody money.

Finding your ball in the fall isn’t just golf. It’s an art form. It’s a spiritual practice. It’s a cross between a treasure hunt and a cardio session you didn’t sign up for.

Step One: Acceptance

First thing, accept the truth — once the ball crosses into the crunchy leaf zone, it now belongs to Mother Nature. You might get it back, but odds are a squirrel with a Titleist addiction already claimed it.

Step Two: The Dad Shuffle

Here’s where the Dad Bod athleticism kicks in. Bend at the waist, shuffle your feet like you’re looking for a lost contact lens, and mutter things like:

• “I swear it was right here.”

• “Must’ve taken a bad hop.”

• “You guys saw it land, right?” (They didn’t.)

The shuffle is essential — it lets your buddies know you’re searching and buys you time to think of an excuse.

Step Three: Weaponize Camouflage

In summer, a golf ball is a white dot in a sea of green. In fall? That ball is just another round leaf in witness protection. Pro tip: don’t wear khaki pants and white shoes. You’ll lose yourself before you lose the ball.

Step Four: Invoke the “Leaf Rule”

Every Dad Bod group has a different take, but in New England autumn the Leaf Rule is sacred: if you reasonably believe the ball is buried under leaves, you get a free drop. No penalty. No guilt. Just don’t abuse it — this isn’t a get-out-of-jail card for your slice into the neighbor’s yard.

Step Five: The Walk of Shame (and the Treasure Trove)

After 3 minutes of pretending you might still find it, pull another ball out of your pocket like a magician with low self-esteem. Tee it up, mutter, “Found it,” and swing away. Everyone knows you didn’t, but we all play along.

And here’s the thing about fall golf — you may lose one ball, but you’ll find five others. Range balls, Top Flites from the Clinton administration, a scuffed Pinnacle with “Go Sox” written on it. It’s like the forest is running a lost-and-found that pays you in cheap ammo. Sure, none of them are your Pro V1, but suddenly your bag looks like a garage sale bin.

Final Thought

In the end, fall golf in New England isn’t about keeping score. It’s about crisp air, hot cider after the round, and the sheer comedy of watching four grown men stomp through the woods like Boy Scouts who forgot how flashlights work.

So embrace the chaos, fellas. Losing balls in the leaves is part of the season. Besides, every lost ball is just the down payment on your next discovery — and nothing says “Dad Bod golf” quite like finishing a round with more balls than you started with.