Here’s a quickie for ya.
Ha, my wife will wince when she reads that line out of habit. She’s no doubt had enough of my quickies, but that’s for another day.
As you regulars will recall, last Saturday I whooped it up gettin’ drunk at a got dang country concert, cowboy hat and all.
This Saturday, I shall be whoopin’ it up all classy and shit on a golf course.
Your mind is no doubt blown by my versatility, no? I AM the donofalltrades though, right?
I haven’t golfed in over a decade, so this should be amusing. I mean I haven’t hit balls or even touched my clubs other than to move them to get to the lawn mower in the garage.
There will be yelling and cursing and maybe some crying and hurt feelings, but at the end of the day, there will be beer, and that makes it sort of okay.
The point of this here post is to entertain you with a story that came to me as a result of my pending golf adventure.
Back when I was golfing more regularly, it was nothing for me to go and play a round on my own, either early in the morning or right after work.
On this near fateful day, it was an early morning tee time, 8 AM to be exact. That’s hella early for unmarried, lives by himself, no kids at the time Don.
I was playing a course that was fairly new to the area and entirely new to me. It was across the mighty Mississippin in Illinois (the s is silent and it’s totally a real state in the USA.)
I paid my fees and got my cart all packed to go. Mercifully, I would be alone. Sometimes, when you golf alone, they stick you with another set of players and that just drives me fucking batty because so many golfers are douchy cuntbags, quite frankly. Either that or they’re old or they’re women or some other obnoxious subset of society put on this earth to make my round of golf miserable.
On this day, however, there was none of that. It was just me, all alone.
The first tee was a shot to a green that you can’t see because it’s apparently down a hill. I hit a beauty of a shot, straight as an arrow (no shit, I’m not even lieing) and gave myself a mental golf clap before getting into my cart to go fuck up the second shot.
As there was no signage saying “DO NO DRIVE ON THE FAIRWAY” I went ahead and drove onto the fairway, as that’s where my ball would be. Upon cresting the hill in my cart, I saw my beautifully placed shot awaiting me in the middle of what was a ginormous fucking hill. It was huge and the green was somewhere down below, on the other side of a small man-made lake.
Normally, such a hill is no worry, but at 8:07 or so AM on this morning, the grass was still wet with dew and Don’s golf cart was having no part in stopping due to said wet grassy hill and shitty rubber colf cart tires being unable to reach an agreement on traction arrangements. Their stalemate left me alone in a golf cart sliding down a giant hill towards a not so giant, but still sizeable man-made lake.
As I slid past my ball thinking, “Fuck, it’s gonna suck having to walk up this hill to get that ball” it dawned on me that this cart was going to end up in that lake and I wasn’t really in the mood to get wet.
I weighed my options and decided that the best course of action would be to abandon cart, so I did just that. Almost.
As I jumped from the cart like a cowardly golf cart captain, one of my feet, probably the less cooperative left one, became entangled between the gas pedal and the currently superfluous brake pedal. Is superfluous used correctly there? I like it and it’s staying.
Anyway, as you can hopefully visualize, my dumb ass is now being dragged down a giant grassy hill by a regular sized golf cart towards a sizeable man-made lake. I can now see that there are good sized rocks placed around the lake as well.
As there were still every bit of a half minute before I was going to reach the rocks, my thoughts turned from having to walk up the hill to get my ball to how bad is it going to hurt when the cart hits the rocks and snaps my shin bone in half as it topples into the lake. I may have been yelling profanities and calling for Jesus (we’re pals for you new readers who may not have known this) all the way down, yes. While he didn’t appear before me, Jesus may or may not have played a part in that cart hitting the rocks and just stopping.
Just like that, it was all over. The cart did not topple over and snap my leg, it just stopped.
I got up and quickly looked around so I could play this off as something I totally meant to do, but it wasn’t necessary as there wasn’t a soul around.
I played the front nine holes and then went into the clubhouse to chat with the golf man.
When I told him that I almost broke my fucking neck jumping out of his golf cart, he said, “You’re not supposed to drive on the first hole fairway.”
Thanks for that information now, asshole.
“There’s no signage indicating that. Should I just have assumed that?” I asked.
He was clearly perplexed and I was becoming increasingly agitated and giddy at the thought of murdering this man with one of the many over priced golf clubs for sale right before my eyes.
As I imagined myself urinating on this man’s grave, another guy came in and apologized that the signs weren’t put up yet.
He did refund me my greens fee, so that made my experience much more tolerable.
I don’t recall if that was the last time I golfed, but it may have been. Let’s hope for a similarly sweet shot on that first hole and a much less traumatic rest of the way to the green.
Sorry, this turned out to be a not so quickie, after all. If only, amiright, Wife?? Whatever.
Have a great weekend all.