The Wacky Side of Golf

19TH HOLE COMEDY
• Today, the blog             • Tomorrow, the book

There is nothing in the Rules of Golf that says a golfer is not allowed to have a personality.



 

My Retriever is Golden

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This entry was posted on 6/3/2006 7:06 AM and is filed under uncategorized.



Once in a while somebody invites me to play at their fancy country club.  I’m self conscious, so I make sure my clubs are clean, my shoes are polished and I wear my best golf attire.  I even get a haircut.  All those things come naturally.

 The tough decision is whether my ball retriever stays in the bag.  I have the kind with a claw on the end.  It sticks out of my bag like a lawn rake.  Observers think I’m there to hoe the flower beds.  It resembles the contraption they sell to pick grapefruit from high limbs.  In a pinch, I can even use it to change light bulbs in a 12 foot ceiling.

 Ball retrievers are construed by many as a sign of ineptness: “Hey Fred, get a load of the wand in that character’s bag, we’re in for a long day.”  Or, “Who the hell invited him?”

 On the other hand, there is an upside to owning a ball retriever.  Like, when your host snap-hooks a shot that ends up in a creek out of reach.  You immediately rush to the scene, extend the shaft, snare the ball and, bingo, you are an instant hero.

 “Here’s your ball, Mr. Oswald.”

 “Thanks, thanks a lot, Jimmy, it’s a brand new Titleist.  I’d hate to lose it.  You’re a fine young man.  We’re keeping a close eye on you.  You have a bright career path ahead of you.”

 One time my secretary returned from vacation with a gift -- a plastic loop that clips on the head of an iron and turns the club into a ball retriever.  It was handy -- a secret weapon.  I didn’t look like a dope carrying it because it was stashed in the zipper pocket of my bag.  But it was only good for short reaches, the ball had to be within the length of my 2-iron and I’m a middle-of-the-pond guy.  When I drown a ball I drown a ball.

 If you are embarassed to carry a ball retriever, here's a bit of good news, based on personal experience: The older you get, the easier it is to say, “The hell with what people think, the retriever stays in the bag.”  In time, your game will deteriorate to a point where a retriever is the difference between a four golf ball day and a seven golf ball day.

 

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