Three Rounds of Golf

Growing up I was never very into golf. I could watch a few minute son TV, but that was it. I loved the golf bag, the clubs, the balls, the tees. I loved whacking golf balls around the yard. Putt Putt wormed its way into my heart pretty quickly. Golf? Not so much.

This became a real handicap (oops) after we moved to Augusta, the home of the Masters Golf Tournament. I doubt anyone takes golf more seriously than those involved with the Augusta National. Not caring about golf just re-enforced my permanent status as Freak of the Week.

My real introduction to golf came when one of my best friends- John Steiner- insisted I come play a round of golf with him at the local V.A> course. Since his Dad was a colonel (possibly retired, I can't recall) John felt it was OK to go. He then decided we should play just the back nine to avoid having to explain our legitimacy. Yes, we were the quintessential ninth graders.

John knew he'd never be a golf pro, but it was still one of his passions, and he pursued it. (He did get to caddie at the Masters a couple of years later, which meant he got to play the course the day after the tournament. He was content to die after that.) John was sure he would have me playing and loving golf in no time. To his credit, my score for the back nine was in the high 30s.

Sort of.

Technically we only played four holes and change. By them I had lost all the balls he had brought and the few we had found looking for some of those. I think he lost one and I lost the rest of two dozen or so. He'd at least been smart enough to bring only the older balls he had scavenged from the rough and water hazards. John was thoroughly embarrassed by my playing. Not only did he never invite me to play golf again; he never even mentioned that day other than once asking that I never mention it.

That was the day I moved from ambivalence toward golf to loathing.

 

Fast forward three decades. My manager at Vignette, Robin Wilson, decided we needed a team bonding event. He and a couple of his trusted lieutenants decided on golf. Most of the fifteen or so team members had never played. "Don't worry, we'll play best ball." This failed to reassure most of us; I assumed it meant I would lose more expensive balls than before. But no, Best Ball means that everyone on a team takes their best shot, and the whole team moves their balls to the best position where any team member's ball lies. The team's score is the best score possible out of all the balls they hit.

They chose teams of four, but Robin, Charles, and I ended up with a team of three. "This is strictly for fun, guys. No competition." And most of the team managed to go with that. But one guy was super competitive. We'll call him Fred. Fred ended up on a team of two mediocre players and Anne, possibly the only person on the course that day who was worse at golf than me. My absolute favorite memory is of her teeing off as hard as she could, and spinning around three times as a result. Fred was standing about ten feet behind her. He threw his hands up and was obviously pouring out lamentations to the sky.

Apparently Fred had insisted on a bet with Robin. Fred lost that bet rather handily, even despite Anne's hole in one later on. Fred was rattled and his game was off. Meanwhile, I had a couple of best balls, including one that got us an eagle. I moved from loathing to admitting that golf could actually be fun. Maybe once every three decades.

 

It's been nowhere near three decades, but I can see myself playing a third round of golf soon if they will allow me a few rule changes.

1. Forget clubs; the balls will be fired from high powered air cannons.
2. No scopes on the cannons; rifle sights will have to suffice.
3. The air cannons will be mounted on high speed golf carts, a la WWII jeeps with machine guns on the back (anyone remember The Rat Patrol?)
4. Balls can only be fired while the carts are moving.
5. The goal is to strike an opponent with a ball. A hit is a point. A knockdown is three points.
6. All players, caddies/drivers, and officials on the course must wear motocross armor.
7. Accidental hits on officials do not get points. Intentional hits get points just as for hitting another player but play stops while the officials throw the offending golfer into the nearest water hazard.
8. Water hazards may contain leeches and other vermin.
9. Stationary decoys are allowed. Hitting a decoy is a point for the player who placed the decoy.

This would make me one of golf's biggest proponents. I would even buy loud clothes to wear over the armor. I would even consider endorsing sponsors. Titleist? Perhaps. Winchester, Ruger, Remington, or Barrett? You know it.