People assume, because I work at a golf course, I'm a couple of range buckets away from joining the Senior Tour. Truth is, I'm horrible. I love it, will never quit it, get mad at it, have learned 'calm down, it's just a game', and I will go through major withdrawal this Winter, guaranteed. In our foursome, I come in fourth place every time. Lemme repeat, every time. Perhaps why they enjoy me tagging along "because I know I won't finish last, Vic will."
A day in the life.
That one guy. He's ALWAYS late. "We're teeing off at 2:15pm" long ago was changed to "We're teeing off at 2pm" because that one guy was always late. Now, we're at "We're teeing off at 1:45pm." It doesn't change much, but usually we're on the first tee by 2:15pm."
Houses. Hole #1, lotsa houses on the left. For a long time, this was AOK with me, because I, like most horrible golfers, slice the ball. Being right handed, that means if I aim for Clay County, my ball always ends up in Ray County, which is East (or to the right, always to the right.)
Except for... that one time I was playing by myself... I hooked it. (that's Ray County to Clay County, right to left.) OVER a house. Wasn't visions of sugarplums, it was visions of mebbe a 5 year old kid laying in the middle of his front yard because some guy bonked him on the head with a golf ball. It wasn't until I got around hole #4 that I stopped worrrying about hearing ambulances coming to someone's rescue.
There are signs. "Private Property, please stay out of the yard." Golfer obey this just like they always drive 25mph in a 25mph zone. "The heck I won't say outta their yard. I paid $29.99 plus tax for this dozen ball, that's a $2.699 Calaway siitting over there." So, we go. Find ball, or try to.
One guy. Recent widow. He moved into a house a 150 yard hook shot away on hole #2. He no likey ANYONE in his yard. If someone entered his yard, he'd come to the clubhouse and pitch a hissy. Every time. Finally it was said "Between you and the golfer", so, he call cops if they no listen, enter his yard. On video. I've seen the cops come to clubhouse, get in golf cart, go on folly to catch hit-it-in-his yard golfer.
"You moved into a house where the backyard is next to the golf course, what do you expect?"
"People, they tell me, 'you live next to a golf course, what do you expect?'...I'm trying to grow grass here, grass won't grow if people walk on it."... "Private property, please stay out of the yard" sign was changed to "Private Property, no trespassing." Folks kinda felt sorry for the guy due to recently being widowed, but man, he had a temper. He'd come a yellin' and a screamin', SO, guys messed with him. They'd walk up to his yard, stand on one leg and dangle the other leg as if they were gonna walk in his yard. "Private Property, no trespassing" sign was changed to "Private Property, owner will call Police."
Months later, it was assumed he quoted Popeye and said "I've had all i cant takes and I can't takes no more" - he moved. In his defense, right before he moved he showed up just as the Ladies League was getting ready to start, and handed two Piggly Wiggly bags full of golf balls to one of the ladies. After he boogied, you heard "Mean guy brought those?" "Yep." He moved.
For the most part, folks are cool. Golfers walk into the yard find their ball then move it out to the fairway to hit. It's an unwritten rule "No hit from folk's yard and takey big divot out of their grass with your pitching wedge" - so, we don't.
Now, you hit the house, you're on your own. I've never seen a window broke, or screen, or Terra cottar planter, but I'm sure it's happened. The responsibility of the golfer to fix. Band camp, I think the third time I hit a house, a HORRIFICLY loud boom as it did. My buddies laugh. I no laughy. We always hit two balls on the first hole anyways and play the best shot. Thankfully, my second shot was inbounds. (That ain't always the case.) So....
Of course I don't go in the yard to retrieve my ball for fear of a butt-chewing from said owner. Had there been damage, of course I would have paid, but we didn't see any, think it hit the siding in back. We get to the green. Buddy says "Vic, did you see that guy?" Nuh uh, I was avoiding him like the plague. (Were you wearing a mask? Just kidding, bad timing for that, and no one said it anyways.) "He walked out his back door, picked up your ball and went right back inside." "Damnit, I paid $5.99 + tax for that dozen at WallyWorld, we're talking a fitty-three cent golf ball." The story of my life, my comparative poorness, situational 'I can't believe that happened', thus, a blog called checkenginelight.
We try not to disturb the neighbors. Housewives may be sunbathing, or gardening in short shorts bending over, we no lookey.
Where was I? Oh yeah, hole #2. By now, we're playing hole #5. I look down at the scorecard (I'm keeping score, I HATE keeping score) and I've only recorded scores for 3 holes and we've played 4. I admit error, we all backtrack in our minds what we scored, fixed, on we go. Late guy gives baby grump about my scorekeeping inability, guys tease like that, they do.
Tis relaxing. Not a care in the world, unless, unless you are addressing the ball. No, don't mean "Hi ball, how are you" I mean, you are milliseconds away from hitting the ball. Then, it's QUIET, or sposeta be. Occasionally someone will pull their club from the bag, making a clanking noise, or, maybe even forget and continue talking, finishing a story they'd started.. that's a no-no. Inside, golfer fume. Outside, he no say nothing. I've even heard "Yeah, I lost my concentration on that shot due to the waterfall" - that's when a golfing buddy is up agin' a tree peeing. Usually you can't hear it, but I guess this time that one guy did.
When not on holes with houses bordering, guys pee anywhere, and old guys, pee often. I don't think I could be a woman and play golf. There are no ORI's between hole #1 and hole #18. There is a 'pump shack' where the main pump for the course it. You can actually even drive through it, kinda like a covered bridge. We call it the "that's where the ladies go to take a dump" pump shack. Dunno if they do, but assumed.
By now we're on hole #12 which abuts 92 Highway. I hear waterfall. I cannot believe golfing buddy peeing within eyesight of 92 Highway, but then again I can. We're old. We pee a lot.
We get to hole #14. Late guy, looking at scorecard, notices that I had a 6 on hole #13 and he had a 4, but I'd written the 6 down for his score, and the 4 down as my score. He no likey that. I fixed it, but heard about error for next three holes.
God love buddies. It is rare we have 'words'. Words is arguing. Golf is to be relaxing. Except. Except 'gimmes'. I hate gimme's. We play 2 guys against 2 guys and record the best score.for each team. A gimme is a putt that is so close to the hole, you tell the guy to "pickup, it's good" and he doesn't have to putt. This can cause consternation, as it's like watching a wide receiver making a 'catch' but fumble the ball, two sides to every board, "he caught it", "no he didn't, he didn't have possession" - a golf gimme is argument like that, except, nobody say nuttin'. Until you get in the cart with your teammate and he (or you) say, "Damnit, I missed that putt, I was waiting for them to call it a gimme, it was close enough to be a gimme, they never called it." One would think, 50+ years of friendship, a bet of ONE DOLLAR, we old folks wouldn't get upset over stuff like that. We do. We no say nuttin' about it, but sometimes later it slips out "yeah, that's a gimme just like the one you didn't give me on hole #13" - hey, we're talkng a dollar here, that's critical. Guy who not call gimme doesn't get upset because he's seen shoe on other foot.
So.... we finish hole #15. Again, I'm recording scores. They know that. I look at each, "I got a 4", "me too", then I look at late guy and he say "I got a 3... did you hear me?" (he say that because I messed up his score once.) "Did you hear me, I got a 3.'
I play golf to relax. For friendship. For nature. For all the green. For the feeling of being old but still kinda-sorta playing a game. Many reasons. Long ago I stopped cussing after a bad shot. Not worth it. Sure, mad inside, but not out. This one guy we golf with, he no learn that yet. He makes a bad shot, he calls himself every name in the book, usually beginning with "You stupid idiot"... I, we, the other three guys, giggle inwardly. Finally, one day I say to guy who cusses himself out "Don't you talk to my friend like that", he reply "he's an idiot of course I'm going to talk to him like that.":
Back to late guy saying "I got a 3... did you hear me, I got a 3". That is inference that I am not a good scorekeeper. Complaint probably legit, and I really really try not to get upset about anything. This time I did, so I say to late guy "If you think you can do a better job keeping score, then YOU do it", followed by "Hell, you can't even tell time." Oh shit. My two buddies that ain't involved are silently rolling, trying not to fall on ground with laughter. Late guy, he no think it funny, but, musta worked, he no bother me again about scorekeeping ineptitude.
We finally finish hole #18. Late guy, he my partner. I am thankful for that, he very good. I am horrible, he very good, thus, we almost always beat golfers #3 and 4. No one really cares (We do) so, we go to back deck of golf clubhouse, add up scores, the losers hand the winners a dollar apiece. We drink beer, end of story, life is good, we live happily ever after, or, we go home only to be thankful when the day comes again for us to play golf.
That not totally true. We have roundtable conversation about back-in-the-day, women specifically, usually. Guy #3, he is teased unmercifully about his high school crush, and how it's certain he hopes she'll show up for the next HS reunion. Guy #2, he single. His neck is hurting so of course, we ask if there is any connection with his neck hurting and the pretty little lady that moved in three doors down from him that he's been firing on. Good stuff.
We talk politics (but only a smidgen), cars, women, knee replacements, women, hip replacements, did you hear so-and-so passed? (it's our age, and it's happening with all too much frequency).. The Chiefs, Salvy, will the real Patrick Mahomes please stand up, Medicare supplemental plans, and women.
Life. Golf. Buddies. Birdies (few). Balls lost (several.) Teasing (much.) Beer after (several). War stories you participated in from 1960-something but don't remember. Life, it be good. We shake hands. Golfer #3 finally say "OK, next Wednesday at 1:45" and as he say so he look at late guy. Of course late guy say "what are you looking at me for?"
Between now and next Wednesday I will go to WallyWorld and buy another $5.99 (plus tax) dozen of golf balls to feed to the woods surrounding the golf course.
Four old guys. Fore sanity.
By Henry Gibson, forward by Chi Chi Rodriguez,
Love, Victurd, the worst golfer of the group, don't tell.
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