The Wacky Side of Golf |
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19TH HOLE COMEDY • Today, the blog • Tomorrow, the book |
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What's wrong with planting a few hundred acres of grass and letting it go at that? This entry was posted on 12/9/2005 12:25 PM and is filed under uncategorized. I love to play golf in the fall, it's my favorite time of the year. The leaves burst with vibrant colors, the air is clear and refreshing and the long shadows give the golf course added character. For added enjoyment, the yutz with the leaf blower likes to join me... and he’s going eighteen. I skip a hole. He skips a hole. He follows like a dog on a leash. But, what a nice guy -- he helped me search for my golf ball after he buried it in an avalanche of leaves. He even apologized and offered to reimburse me when he realized he had blown one of my head covers across the county line. Sometimes I get to play through the watering system -- usually on par-4 holes -- just after I bust a tee shot down the middle, one that lands in the heart of the fairway. You know the feeling: your chest swells with pride because you popped a good one right on the button. For me, it’s an achievement so I swagger down the fairway, chin up, until I find myself in a car wash -- the sprinkling system unexpectedly springs to life like a string of fire boats celebrating the arrival of the QM2. I’m reminded of the time my friend Dave was in the right rough, maybe 50 feet behind one of those three-foot high metal watering system control boxes. From my vantage point, across the fairway, I knew he would have no problem clearing it, but something told me to stay tuned. Sure enough, he drilled his ball into the center of the box, hit it square and turned the sprinklers on. We still laugh about it. I would bet a bucket of balls he can’t do it again. I'm not a very good golfer, my game deserves a laugh track. Even so, I know I could lower my scores if the golf course superintendent would lend a helping hand. There are times when the way he sets up the course drives us nuts. For example (this happens on a lot of my tee shots): My shoulders are perfectly square, perpendicular to the tee box markers. I make a good pass at the ball -- taking the club back in one piece, shifting my weight properly and following through to a nice, high balanced finish. I’ve hit a pretty good drive, straight as an arrow. . .into a neighbor’s omelet. Why? Because the friggin markers are lined up toward an innocent resident’s kitchen. I am not blazing any new trails -- there are golf balls strewn about the kitchen floor and more due to come through the window like missiles. We amateurs need help, most of us hit banana slices. It would be nice, quite convenient, actually, if the tees are aimed toward the left rough once in a while. Here’s another thing that keeps my handicap higher than my blood pressure: Is there a day of the week -- heck, is there a day of the year -- when we get to play from the front of every tee? Do the markers have to be all the way back at the tips where you need a rocket launcher to reach the fairway? My paper boy has more carry on his throws than I have on my drives. It’s impossible to get any distance when there is no turf under my right foot. The greens department has us standing like flamingos. In all fairness, compliments are in order for the way the course is manicured. When a tee shot lands in the fairway, I feel like calling the greens department to express my gratitude for a perfect lie. At the very least, I should take a minute when I get home to send a thank-you note. The crew goes to great lengths to maintain the course like it’s Augusta National. The fairways look like they come from the looms of Mohawk, not a weed in sight. Which is good -- if my ball winds up in a dandelion clump, I'm out of business. I don’t have that shot. Speaking of strange lies, I had to learn a few unique recovery shots due to the way I scatter my drives. I’m particularly good at the low-slung pine tree escape shot, the prickly pear cactus bowlegged chip-shot and the chain-link-fence backhanded slap shot. It’s important to master them because the architect put a lot of chicken shit hazards and obstacles on the course. I’ll never understand why a designer has to put trees, shrubs, cactus and out-of-bounds fences on a golf course. What's wrong with planting a few hundred acres of lawn and letting it go at that? Did I write that, or was I just thinking it? Back to the discussion about rare tee shots in the fairway. It’s a Kodak moment, one to treasure. And I do -- until the search for the flagstick begins. Where is it? Did they forget to bring one out? Oh, there it is, stashed three paces behind a pot bunker and guarded by a towering willow tree. I hit a great drive and feel like I deserve a chance to make a par, maybe even a birdie, but no! The pin is where it won’t show up on radar. What are Bert and Ernie thinking when they determine pin placements? Bert: Front left. Tricky putt. Ernie: Too easy. Right center. Hard to read. Bert: Next to the water. The lake’s a magnet. Ernie: Front right. It won’t hold. Bert: Back left. At the down-slope. Ernie: Behind the bunker. No green to work with. Bert: Under a rock. Please. Is there anything wrong with dead center? Did somebody declare it off limits? It’s time to dial the greens department. I have to discuss a few things. Greenkeeper: Hello. Me: I was going to call to say thank you for our wonderful course condition but I changed my mind. I would rather have a spinal tap than play these goddamn greens. I’d rather run with the bulls. GK: I’m sorry to hear that. Me: Where are the pins? Is today’s event a flag hunt? And who mowed the greens? The grass is the same height as a coat of paint. It has razor burn. What kind of after shave do you put on it? I tape a sponge to the face of my putter to keep my putts from rolling farther than my 2-iron shots. If you want to whack grass down to the ground, please do it on the fairways -- we can use some extra roll. The grass on the greens is so short we’re putting on the roots. Historical note: Edward Stimpson, Sr. invented a gizmo called the Stimpmeter, which is used to measure the speed of a green. It looks like a ruler with a notch cut at one end to hold a golf ball. When tilted, the ball releases, rolls down the shaft and across the green. If it rolls 10 feet, the green is said to be a 10 on the Stimpmeter. A “fast” green would be a 10 or 11, even more at the U.S. Open. Bert and Ernie get our greens to register “clunk” and “splash” -- a ball doesn’t stop rolling until it hits a tree or drowns in a pond. The greens are so fast that mosquitoes can't land. Players don’t read our greens, they grope them. We leave the flagstick in when we putt -- it’s something to hang on to so we don’t lose our footing. As much as I complain about the way the course superintendent louses up my game, I must admit -- no matter how much we complain, he doesn’t take any shit from the members. * * * |
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