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It started like any other Tuesday night.

1:08am.
Warehouse silent.
Enrique posted up like a monk in the corner, Monster in one hand, nitrile glove on the other. Sorting like a surgeon. Focused. Zoned in.

Then, something changed.

He froze. Held up a ball like Rafiki holding Simba.
Stared at it for a full 90 seconds.

We checked the cameras later. It looked… romantic.

“She’s flawless,” he whispered.

Not joking.
The mic picked it up.

It was a Bridgestone Tour B XS, barely used.
Perfect compression. No ink. No scuffs. Like she’d never touched a cart path in her life.

He named her Gloria.

And for the next 3 hours, he built her… a shrine.

The Shrine

He cleared off a corner table.

Laid down fresh microfiber.
Built a ball pyramid with her on top.
Surrounded her with four teal Gatorades, two incense sticks (???), and a Bluetooth speaker playing “Careless Whisper” on repeat.

We don’t know where the incense came from.
We also don’t know why he had candles labeled “Protection” and “Ball Spirit Energy”, but they were lit.

At 3:12am, he placed a Post-it note in front of Gloria. It read:

“You belong in the hands of a king. Or at least not a guy who slices.”

What Happened to Gloria?

The next morning, she was gone.

We asked Enrique.
He just nodded and said,

“She found her golfer. That’s all that matters.”

We later found her in a premium pack we shipped to a guy in Tampa.

He left a review:

“One of the balls just… felt different. I shot my lowest round ever. Thanks, Shaggy.”

We said nothing. But deep down, we knew.

Final Quote from the Man Himself:

“You don’t choose the ball. The ball chooses you. Gloria knew what she was doing.”