The Moral Of The Story It was the kind of day that is ideal for golf. The sky was clear and the day was Sunday. There was a gentle breeze which made leisurely walk a pleasure. The sun was beating down on the dew dampened fairways. It was 9:00 in the morning and Karl had already been on the practice putting green for 15 minutes. He was to meet Sam, Fred, and Larry on the first tee at 9:15. None of them were members and the green fees were $120.00, including carts, on Sundays. But it was a beautiful day and the golf season was almost over. At 10:30 they gained the first tee after waiting for seven foursomes which were ahead of them. Karl had been so annoyed by the delay that he initiated the game by duck- hooking a shiny new titleist into the center of the stream bordering the first fairway. “That’s O.K.,” exclaimed Sam. “Hit another one, Karl. We’ll play Mulligans on the first tee.” “God Damn, Mulligan,”said Karl. “I don’t need any Mulligans. If all those slow players hadn’t been ahead of us, this never would have happened. I’m going to hit another tee shot and then I’ll be lying three and not lying.” He proceeded to pump another tee shot into the same part of the stream. On his third try he skied one in the general direction of the center of the fairway. “One hundred and fifty yards up and one hundred and fifty out,” commented Fred. Fred was next on the tee and he looked up and topped the ball, but it just man- aged to reach the creek and dribbled in. “Jesus, it’s contagious,” suggested Fred. “Come on, Karl, let’s take Mulligans. We’ll both be a hell of a lot better off. On the 2 first tee it’s not like cheating. Just think of it as starting over again.” “No, God Damn it; I’m counting all of my strokes. You do what you want, said Karl.” “You miserable bastard. You know your words are sealing my fate.” “O.K., you guys, break it up,” Sam interrupted. “Let’s get this show on the road. Hit another one Fred. You’re on deck, Larry.” Fred pushed his next try to the right and it ended up in heavy rough. Larry then hit a long drive down the left side of the fairway but it ended up directly behind a tree. Sam hit his first shot of the day way to the right and out of bounds, so he too was obliged to take a penalty. But his second was way down the middle of the fairway and well hit. By the time they reached the fourth tee each of the players had made so many bad shots that that the possibility of any one in the foursome “breaking a hundred” had been precluded. Also, to the horror of the other three players in their group, Sam had begun to shank. Most amateurs and even some professional golfers view shanking as a disease. Some even think it is contagious. For this reason, once Sam had begun shanking the others looked away from him when he was hitting. What causes shanking? Most pros would say that it occurs than the ball is struck on the heel or the shank of the club. But what is the real cause? Some speculate that the golfer is standing too far from the ball. Others might say the problem is floppy wrists or looking up. What is the result of such a shot? The ball goes well to the right of the intended target, ill struck, clearly not hit in the sweet spot, and it gives the player a sinking feeling. 3 Concurrent with Sam’s shanking behavior, Fred had acquired the yips. It is said that the yips, which usually paralizes the player’s putting, has driven world class professional golfers, such as Byron Nelson and Ben Hogan, into retirement. In Fred’s case, he couldn’t even pull back his driver. Sam stopped, turned, and smiling at the other three players in his foursome said, “What would you rather have, the shanks or the yips?” Fred was only 25 years old and yet he was already using one of those long putters which one sees so often on the Senior PGA circuit. Furthermore, he putted cross-handed. This sort of behavior is reminiscient, in its horror, of an Edgar Allan Poe short story or poem. Fred was once seen to stand over a five foot putt for four minutes and then was unable to draw back the putter. When he finally did, he knocked the ball 25 feet beyond the hole and into a sand trap. While this foursome was hacking its way around the course, the sunny and cloudless day had rapidly changed to one overcast and gloomy and the possibility of rain had presented itself. No sooner had they hit from the seventh tee when the rain began, first mist-like and then quickly becoming drops as large and as penetrating as hailstones. A shelter was near the seventh tee, but all four were wet by the time they reached it. Twenty minutes later the rain subsided. The skies, however, remained a dismal gray. The men ventured forth and after a long and aggravating search they found their tee shots. The rain had been so heavy that the fairways had become sodden marshes and the greens were like pools. The rough and the woods were unthinkably sodden. 4 The eighth hole was a par three and its green was banked toward the tee. Karl had gained the honors by snagging a double bogey seven on the par five seventh hole. He proceeded to execute a fine five iron shot and the ball stopped just 15 feet short of the hole. The tee shots of the others ended up in the general vicinity of the green. Larry’s shot caught the trap to the left of the green. Since the trap was like a miniature lake the others allowed him to take it out. The green turned out to be a literal river and so Karl’s first putt was, of necessity, against the current. He tried to anticipate the resistance which would hamper his uphill, or upstream, putt by taking almost a full swing with his putter, and surprisingly enough he hit the ball solidly, but it struggled scarcely five feet before it was brought to a hissing halt by the soggy grass. Although the others were almost choking with laughter, when their turn came the same sort of thing happened, and Karl finally managed to get down in two more shots, which enabled him to retain the honors. It began to sprinkle again. Karl made the nine hole turn in 57, five shots better Than his closest competitor. The light rain continued for the next five holes. All four players were determined to get their 18 holes in, since they knew the old Scottish professional, Willie Turner, would never refund them their green fees. As they splashed their way to the fifteenth green, the rain again increased, and by the time they reached a shelter, the skies were belching forth torrents of rain. “God Damn that Willie Turner,” exclaimed Karl. “If it hadn’t been for him we would have quit after the sixth hole, the old tightwad bastard. And you know what he would say about this weather? ‘A little rain won’t hurt ye, laddie. Are you meed of 5 sugar?’” “Karl, you know damned well you wouldn’t have quit after the sixth hole, even with a full raincheck,” replied Sam. Karl smiled sheepishly and looked up at the sky. “I wish this bastardly rain would stop.” The shelter they were occupying seemed an erstwhile barn. They had been obliged to gallop through rough over two feet deep to gain the shelter. Most of the windows in the building were broken and the floor was covered with the broken glass. Nevertheless, they had protection from the rain. The main part of the structure was a large and vacant room. But there was a door toward the back of the room which led to a smaller room. “I wonder what’s in that next room?” questioned Fred. “Four revolving blondes complete with a case of V.O., mix, ice cubes, glasses, matches,and a dry carton of cigarettes,” answered Sam. “You certainly are a dreamer,” said Larry, who then told the other three golfers a story about his uncle, Max. “Max was an alcoholic, but well off financially. His aunt was immensely wealthy, said to be worth over 100 million dollars. Max loved to play golf. Once he played in a team calcutta golf tournement which was structured so amateur golfers could select a partner and play for money. And others could bet on the various teams. Max’s partner was a 20 handicapper, but on the day of the tournement was playing much better than his handicap. Max had been drinking some Wild Turkey in the locker room before they teed off and so was playing terribly. He picked up on almost 6 every hole, but his partner kept them in the match, as the score for each hole was computed by using the best ball of the team, taking into account their handicaps. After 18 holes the match was all even and they went into sudden death,” said Larry. “Finally, on the 21st hole,” chuckled Larry, “Max carefully examined the roll of the green and stroked in a 75 foot putt to win the match, saying, ‘I always come through in the clutch.’” The rain had lessened and the golfers opened the door and gazed out at the wet world. Karl left the building, poking along with his wedge in the grass. Suddenly he dashed back into the building. “What is it, Karl?” inquired Sam. “Jesus, I heard a rattling noise, sounding like a rattlesnake. Come on out with me, Sam, real slow like, and let’s see what made the noise.” The two men left the barn. The other two crouched, fearful, in its recesses. Karl poked gently at the clump of grass that seemed to emit the noise. Sam squinted his eyes, trying to see what it was. Suddenly, like miniature airplanes, rising in a formation, a great number of bees, unusually large, rose slowly from the clump of grass. Karl and Sam moved away cautiously. When they regained the shelter they informed their colleagues of the news. “God Damn, what will we do? They’ll fly right through those busted windows,” screamed Fred. Then the rear door opened and four lovely, curvy, golden-haired women, each 7 dressed in bright red shorts, a coal black sweater, and black high heels entered the larger room.They carried with them a case of V.O., complete with glasses, mix, and ice, and cigarettes and matches, obviously dry. At the same time the sun broke through the clouds and the bees settled back to their clump of grass. The Moral of the Story- If someone inquires as to whether or not you have had an enjoyable round of golf, and if the game itself did not turn out too well, always reply by saying “It was a nice day in the country.”
Copyright © 2004 Higgins |