A long drive to Fulton, MO... and then to O'Fallon, MO.. early next morning, straight to Wrigley Field for a 1:20 pm game.. .. brief respite in Wrigleyville, ballgame.. traffic hell leaving Wrigley... it was as if we'd GPS'ed our way home and punched 'walking' insteada 'driving.' Two hours after the game, we finally reached the City Limits of Chicago. OK, a stretch mebbe, but I'll be darned if it wasn't an hour and fitty-nine minutes.
Where was I? Oh yeah.. on the road again, reversing the drive above. Just as dark had come upon us, we were 20 miles North of Honest Abe's hometown, in the middle of scenic (jk) Illinois. "A HILL! I swear I saw a hill!"... Oh yeah again, winds fitty to seventy-five MPH, rain, sideways.. road construction, sorry, one lane.. "careful, we ain't poured the concrete yet, if you move over too many inches, it's a 14" drop." Plan B, Red Roof Inn...thanks to our cousin for his amazing driving, patience. The entire hour it took us to go 20 miles to Mr. Lincoln's town - we envisioned a semi rear-ending us, only to see us land somewhere around Cape Girardeau.
Basically, trip likened life, WONDERFUL, with baby respites of fingernail biting yuck. Enough about that. A stroll thru FB this morning. Good stuff, great stuff, really sad stuff, cute stuff, ads for grocery stores, lingerie, people listing $99,000 homes for $249,000... A $900 used sofa (hark, not to worry, it comes from a no smoking, no pet home.) Twenty 'Biden sucks', twenty 'Trump sucks' posts. Patooey, gimme the newspaper instead.
Well, on second thought, nevermind.... problems in Haiti, opines about vaccine obstinacy, shooting over there, wrong way fatal car wreck, "rent soars", man guilty of shooting wife, wastewater plant sends untreated water into Blue River..........
HELP, I need somebody, HELP, not just anybody.. HELP, you know I need someone:
Baseball Ray. Not this time James Earl Jones, we're talking golf, right Arnie?
Ahhhhh golf. No, it ain't for everyone, but if you happen to enjoy it, you will understand getting away 'from it all', camaraderie, the sounds and sights of nature, laughing at your buddy whose putt comes up two inches short and in a millisecond you hear every curse word you've ever learned. Victor, that's frustration. No, it's about laughter (internally) for the rest of the foursome, ain't near nuttin' like car wrecks, shootings, Biden/Trump, forlorn folks on FB crying out for help, yada.
For women, I presume golf is like Bunco on wheels. Gossip (sorry, but we men do it too.) Laughter about spouses, kindheartedly. My kid did this (bite fingernails), my (transmission, power window, alternator, tierod) went out, woe is me, BUT, I'm golfing. For the hours spent out in glorious nature, it's all AOK, life is good, even if by the 6th hole your or I have hit one in the drink and two in the forest.
For men, the testosterone is tested, and the longest drive person struts. Drive for show, putt for dough - peanut butter breath. Sure sure sure, there's competitiveness, but in the end, no one really gives a rat's ass who wins. Blessed are we who gather. Good friends, good laughs, good times, stories shared (some, for the 4th or 5th time), Amazing sights, birds, rabbits, squirrels, deer, muskrats, geese...
For one entire month, a momma and daddy geese, or is it goose, protected the tee (their nearby nest where eggs will turn to babies) on #18. Squawk squawk squawk they did, until one day, there they were, mom/dad, and 9 little bee-bops walking behind them in suit.
My buddy, he was getting ready to swing.. I said "Stop" loud enough for him to hear, but not real loud.. You don't do that, but I had reason. Enter name here of person who hates FB - as he was prepared to hit, "slowly, turn around." He did. There was a doe, no more than twenty feet directly behind him, stopped in her tracks staring at him. Goodstuff.. Truly a God moment.
Then there's August 1st, that's when all the little copperhead babies appear. Cute? Eh mebbe, but baby copperheads don't know their own strength and they will chomp ya and give you twenty times the poison mom or dad would give, 'cause they don't know any better.
A foursome of age 60+ golfers with bulging prostates will unzip, find a tree an average of five times per round. Seven if it's really hot and they are downing water like it's going out of style. (Actually, the proper order is find a tree, then unzip.) A time or two a feller will remark about the weather, "It's nice out", and perfectly timed, the guy at the tree will respond, "yeah, I think I'll leave it out." (sorry, kinda.) Women, on the other hand, will drive to find the nearest ORI, or, return to the clubhouse to tinkle. (Speakin' o' women, we men, er, some men, will take bets about how they place the ball on the tee. There are squatters, and there are bender overs. It's mostly easy to forecast.)
"Ouch" he says as his iron hits the ground two inches behind the ball, stopping it, while the remainder of his body/flab continue on. Pinched nerve in neck... war stories about knee replacements, hip replacements, sometimes even old football injuries come up. Doesn't sound fun eh?
It is. It's relaxing, be damned the score. It's beautiful, again, thank you God. It's mostly quiet, except for the banter, conversation of you and the three others who would not rather be any other place during the time it takes to play golf.
Golf is basically competing against yourself. That's a lie, but it sounds good. Eh, you might lose a few bucks to your buddies, but that's ok as usually the tide will turn somewhere in the future. You hate the guts, silently, of that guy that ALWAYS pitches or chips the ball from off of the green to within 6'. When you (me) pitches or chips, the goal is simply to get the ball on the damn putting surface. There is handicap, and I am definitely handicapped in golf.
Ok, some of my favorite moments. There are various color tee markers where you tee off. The blue ones, 'way back there', are for young sprites, the white ones for middle age dudes, the gold ones for us old farts, and the red ones for the ladies. If any of the blue, white, gold dudes tee off and the ball doesn't make it to the red women's tee, you will be subject to "Does your husband play too?" Basta's.
Anyways, the course we were on this day had very hard, 6" round, ball shaped tee markers. Buddy tees off.. a wormburner never getting more than three inches off the ground, it hits the red women's tee marker and at a hunnerd plus miles per hour it makes a beeline straight back at the head of our buddy who hit it. He drops frantically to the ground, we laugh... and laugh.. .and laugh.
Nudder time. Buddy tees off. It's slicing (which is a common affliction of us really crappy golfers and it means it's curving very fast in a mostly sideways motion, ie, not a good thing.) This course is lined by houses as many courses are. The ball is headed for a house atop the hill. Midflight, the garage door starts opening, the ball is getting nearer.. a lady in an SUV starts backing out (OH NO!).. soon, she pushes the remote button to close the garage door, and just as she does the ball disappears into the garage and starts bouncing off walls, the ceiling, like a game of Pong, and, door closes. Lady never even saw it. It was as if it all happened in memorable slow motion. The guy who it the ball, flabbergasted, cusses, and we were by now rolling hysterically on the ground with the realization "he will never live this down." Actually, my favorite golf moment ever, and, I couldn't have handpicked a better guy for it to happen too.. a dude that is very much well loved by us all, and due to that, he is frequently the target of good natured teasing.
After. After golf, we gather. Sometimes you can almost hear Springsteen's Glory Days in the background, as war stories of sports when we were skinny are talked about. Some guys recall is tainted and they get better and better every year. We talk about 17 year old women (when we were 17).. walking to school prior to being 16, going to so and so's house.. a mom or a dad coming home unexpectedly. MAJOR tease about girlfriends of the past (particularly enhanced in a class reunion year).
We talk about everything except all the aforementioned yuck from FB, newspapers, news, yada. We come happy, we play (mostly) happy, we visit, very much happy, we fist bump or shake hands, and we can't wait to do it again...after we go to WallyWorld and replentish our golf ball supply.
Golf. It's better than any anti-anxiety pill I've ever taken.
Fore sure.
Love, Victurd
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