I have a confession to make. I am addicted to playing golf. It’s not because I am good at it, but every time I finish a round, I truly believe that the next time, I will play better. Unfortunately, I have been playing golf since I was a teen, and I‘m not getting better, just much worse. But next time…
I have played with the same group for over thirty years. I consider these guys (Noticed, I didn’t say gentleman) my core group of friends. Several of them and I go back to when we played softball together for decades. As time passed, we moved to golf and added golfers outside our softball circle. Each Saturday, one of our members sets up two tee times, and the first eight members of our group check-in and get to play. On each Saturday, we eight so-called friends spend four to five hours teasing, mocking, calling each other names, cussing, trying to screw up each other’s game, tossing clubs in anger, and consuming a great amount of alcohol…wow, now that I think of it, that doesn’t sound like camaraderie among friends, but damn, it’s fun.
We also now have a wide range of ages playing in our group. From one young man around 35 to our oldest participant, 75. To even out this disparity in age and ability, we use handicaps to make everything even. When the young guy who plays well steps up to hit his ball, we make sure to be moving around and making as much noise as he is trying to hit the ball. Those number handicaps don’t work as well as when he slices his drive into a neighborhood near the course. His worrying about a lawsuit for hitting some innocent child with his golf ball can really throw him off his game.
Some of our group still carry the nicknames awarded to us during our softball days. I think it is in the Constitution that if you play on a men’s beer league softball team, you must have a nickname. Our team went as far as having shirts made to display those clever but appropriate nicknames so all could see.
Some of the better nicknames were “Four for Four,” for the guy who had trouble keeping track of how many hits he had. “20 Minutes” was the time another player would spend in the John before the game. “The Professional” was our team manager and didn’t take guff from anyone. “Pretty Boy” is an easy one to figure out. He was one of our younger players who still had all his hair. Being a pretty boy in our group doesn’t take a lot. Mine was “The Great White Tatonka.” I thought it was due to me being great, but it was explained to me it was due to me being big, very white, and hairy. Wow, what a letdown. One of our players was known as “The Beer Monitor.” As the name suggests, he handed out beer fines for mistakes during games and had final approval of the brand of beer used to pay those fines. No Milwaukee’s Best allowed. Finally, there was “The Little F$#@&?! Weasel (pardon the profanity). It’s hard to believe that someone is proud of this nickname, but he is. He also lives up to his moniker regularly.
While most of us are past our softball days, we still act like a beer league team, and it is fun. I moved away from the region where all this fun happened about eight years ago, but I still drive back almost every Saturday to participate in this self-flagellation. Considering how much gas prices have gone up, I have to wonder if I really like these guys.
Over the years, our Saturday round of golf has expanded into activities outside our regular routine. We now play in multiple tournaments each year. Despite our advanced years and lack of ability, we have been able to win a few of these tournaments. We also had the largest liquor tab than all of the other participants and partied long after most of the other teams headed to bed the night before the event.
We have also made several road trips to visit our former golf pals who have relocated to Arizona. Of course, we have to wait for a time of year so we will not fry in the desert heat. Fortunately for some of our group, our friends now live near Laughlin, Nevada. It was one of those rare times when we were interested in other activities besides golf.
Golfers come in all kinds of personas. There is the “teacher.” All golfers think they know so much about the game they must dispense wisdom to another golfer, even if the other golfer is trying to dispense wisdom back. You also have the “old man.” This is usually the old member of the group, and even though he may be just 2 or 3 days older than the next man, he’s labeled as the “old man.” While most golfers blow off steam, some take it to the extremes. There will be one guy who must be trying to qualify as an Olympic javelin thrower. You just can’t believe a golf club could travel that far. The one thing that can be banked on is those who enjoy a beverage while golfing, and I don’t mean a soft drink. They usually have a cooler filled to the top with their favorite malted beverage and ice. Their excuse for drinking is how bad they’re playing. I think the reason they are playing badly may be because of the cooler they brought along. Then there are the players who yell a lot. They will blame their equipment, the ball, the time of day, the weather, and finally, themselves. After all my year’s golfing, blaming the clubs you’re swinging is not the reason for playing poorly. It is usually a result of the nut attached to them (Think about it. You may get it. )
Our group does not play the best golf courses available. There are large areas where grass does not exist, greens are harder than the parking lot, and sand traps tend to have more water than sand. We tend to improve our lies a little as a result. When we play a real golf course in excellent condition, we don’t do that because even the worst lie on one of these layouts is better than the best lies we get on the ones we usually play. Please don’t tell the USGA. They spend so much time convincing people that golfers are honorable and always adhere to the rules of the game. We do, that is, until we need to beat that other guy to win a bet. Did I say there was gambling on the course?
It brings to mind that famous line from Casablanca when the police chief says, “I’m shocked! Shocked to find that gambling is going on in here,” while he is being handed his winnings from the casino. That leads to another famous line from the movie, “Round Up The Usual Suspects.”
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