When we first built our house in 2000, there were about 10 or so of use guys in the ward that golfed regularly together. We would play at least once a week and usually have 4-8 of us each time. We had some great times and competitive matches. There were a lot of lunches won and lost on the course.
One particular Saturday I played a round with friends Paul Smith, JR Frisby and Steve Pinckney. We decided to go down to Springville canyon and play the beloved Hobble Creek Golf Course. The course is wonderful, except in the spring when the leaves fall off of the trees and you can't find your ball, but it seems that if you're not in the "good ole boys" club with the clubhouse staff, you're treated like a wannabee and they'd rather you just leave and go play elsewhere than take your money.
This particular Saturday was a normally busy golf day and you could tell an 18 hole round was going to take 5 hours or more. But what the heck. It's a Saturday and if we weren't golfing we'd be mowing the lawn or something. So the longer the better.
The four of us are pretty good golfers. Paul back then was a 12, Steve a good 7 and JR a 12 as well. Paul and JR are better now than they were then. I'm not sure about Steve though. We haven't played together in a long time. He took a promotion and his golf game took a back seat. Priorities or something is what he said the last time I asked him.
The day was going along well when on the back nine Paul faded his drive and it laid to rest between our fairway and the fairway parallel to it. We went to his ball and waited for the group to clear the green before he hit. As we sat there the group on the hole next to us also faded one towards us but not threatening to kill us. It landed 15-20 from Paul's ball. Nothing was said and we casually continued to wait. The group next to us came to their ball. The twosome in the cart was a younger guy and an elderly man dressed n a full body, light blue jumpsuit. Something my driver's ed teacher wore everyday to class. God bless you Mr. Manning. Anyway as they approached, a comment was made from the elderly man that we speed it up a bit. This was said right when Paul was going through his pre-shot routine. We made a comment that it wasn't us but must be a group in front of us. Plus we had no one pushing us either. He then continued to go through his routine. I could tell he was somewhat perturbed by the comment but figured he could shake it off and hit the shot of his life in front of them. The address. The back swing. The shot. NOT GOOD. He topped it and it worm burned about 30 yards down the rough. "AAHHHH!" Paul said along with a few other profanities that I don't think I can put in the blog. "I hate it when I'm trying to hit my ball and some jackass pulls up says something right before I hit!" The younger guy in the cart was already out looking at his ball and replied, "Relax, I didn't say anything!" Paul quickly fired back, "I wasn't talking to you, I was talking to the OLD MAN!" and pointed to their cart. All at once, (well not really at once, more like grab the rail, put one foot out of the cart, get you balance, slowly put the other foot out onto the grass, grab the back rail of the cart and pull yourself to your feet, reach into the cart basket and grab your cane, now get your balance before you walk.....and now walk) the Old Man comes at us with a Quasimodo like shuffle and yells in his, I've smoked for 75 year old voice, "Who you callin' an Old Man?" Paul was about to get his butt kicked by Spanish Forks finest...and he knew it. For a second I thought we were going to see them throw down but fortunately I caught Paul's shoulder and pulled him into the cart and we quickly pulled away scooped up his ball and headed towards mine. I'm convinced that that day I saved Paul's life by pulling him away. I could tell the Old Man could use that cane. We still laugh to this day about that. Most of our friends have now moved out of our neighborhood but Paul and Me remain. Every now and then when we see each other putting our garbage cans out on Wednesday mornings I'll shout over, "Who you callin' an Old Man!" It still gets a laugh.
I still have visions of my short, red headed buddy Paul and the Old Man rolling around on the ground like Adam Sandler and Bob Barker. Don't tell Paul but I would have had to put my money on the Old Man and his cane. Those Spanish Fork guys are tough!
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
"Wayne the Pimp"
Mid July. Hot. Windy. What would be better than playing 18 holes at Wind...er West Ridge in West Valley? I would say its almost in Tooele. A good little course that has some interesting holes and is always a good place to play a 2 hour round of golf. In other words, it's never crowded. Especially when the wind blows, which is only 362 days of the year.
I tee off alone. I call it therapy and look forward to a great day of peace and quiet. I parred the first, bogied the second, bridied the third, parred the fourth, parred the fifth. I catch a slow moving foursome at the sixth. By the looks of them, they are not going to let me play through. Not that they are jerks, but because I don't think they know what it means to play through. I patiently wait on the tee box of the par 5, 6th knowing that I can find a good place on the next few holes to move ahead of them. I would just skip the 6th, but it's only a 480 yard par 5 and is a possible eagle chance. Sitting even after 5 holes, I decide to play it and hope for a chance to move in front of them on the 7th or 8th.
While I'm waiting for them to clear the fairway, the cart girl comes around. She's dressed exactly how a cart girl at a muni course in the middle of West Valley would look like. I imagine she could be a very attractive girl if it weren't for the pierced nose, pierced brow, black lipstick, overdone eye makeup, daisy duke shorts (short enough that the pockets extend below the shorts), black high top sneakers and an ACDC tattoo on her forearm. I asked her if she had a cold Diet Pepsi. She took of her head phones and said, "What? Sorry I couldn't hear you." I repeated myself. She didn't say anything just moved to the back of the cart, bent down and opened the cooler compartment to pull out my request. At this point I realized the ACDC wasn't the only tattoo she had. She had some fancy design on her back. I believe they are known as "tramp stamps". I thanked her, gave her a generous tip and walked to the tee box.
The foursome in front of me had finally cleared the "kill zone". I hit my tee shot. Right down the middle and long. Yippeee! As I loaded back into my cart another cart pulled in behind me. I didn't hear the conversation in detail but I'm pretty sure it was regarding the cart girl and how hot she was. This was going to be good. Say hello to Larry and Wayne. Two sixty somethings who thought they were still in their 20's. I asked if they wanted to join because of the foursome ahead of us and they said sure. I told them I had already teed off. The only disclaimer from both of them was that they were both old and played golf for the beer and to get away from their wives. I love it.
They hit their shots and the result was exactly what I would expect from two sixty somethings. Short and right. We reached their balls and they couldn't believe how far down the fairway my ball was. "Holy Sh**, Larry check that drive out! I've never see a ball that far on this hole." They were impressed. I ended up 15 feet from the pin on my second shot with a putt for eagle. After both tapping in for triples they awaited my putt. In my backswing, the loud and somewhat obnoxious Wayne shouts, "Be a hero!". It was a tough right to left putt that I had no intention of making and had it not squarely hit the back of the cup, it would have gone 10 feet past the hole. But it dropped in. I think they were more excited than me. I tried to keep my composure to appear that I do this all of the time. I was like a duck on water. Calm on the surface but underneath I was paddling like crazy.
On the 9th hole the conversation turns to getting to know each other. I ask them what they do for a living. Larry says he is a retired iron worker which based on the large muscular forearms and the square shoulder build, I believed it. I asked Wayne next and without a hint of a smile or without batting an eye he says, "I'm a retired pimp." I waited for a giggle or a "just kidding" or even some response from Larry but there was dead silence. There were so many things I wanted to say but he just couldn't based on the fact that I think he was totally serious.
I ended up with a 35, 40, +4, 75. It could have been much better. I think my curiousity was cleared however, when after the round, I returned the cart and noticed Wayne putting his clubs into his car. It was a low riding, black, mid 80's Cadillac Seville with tinted windows and crome rims. It was the exact car I would imagine a pimp driving around. A pimp named Wayne no less.
I tee off alone. I call it therapy and look forward to a great day of peace and quiet. I parred the first, bogied the second, bridied the third, parred the fourth, parred the fifth. I catch a slow moving foursome at the sixth. By the looks of them, they are not going to let me play through. Not that they are jerks, but because I don't think they know what it means to play through. I patiently wait on the tee box of the par 5, 6th knowing that I can find a good place on the next few holes to move ahead of them. I would just skip the 6th, but it's only a 480 yard par 5 and is a possible eagle chance. Sitting even after 5 holes, I decide to play it and hope for a chance to move in front of them on the 7th or 8th.
While I'm waiting for them to clear the fairway, the cart girl comes around. She's dressed exactly how a cart girl at a muni course in the middle of West Valley would look like. I imagine she could be a very attractive girl if it weren't for the pierced nose, pierced brow, black lipstick, overdone eye makeup, daisy duke shorts (short enough that the pockets extend below the shorts), black high top sneakers and an ACDC tattoo on her forearm. I asked her if she had a cold Diet Pepsi. She took of her head phones and said, "What? Sorry I couldn't hear you." I repeated myself. She didn't say anything just moved to the back of the cart, bent down and opened the cooler compartment to pull out my request. At this point I realized the ACDC wasn't the only tattoo she had. She had some fancy design on her back. I believe they are known as "tramp stamps". I thanked her, gave her a generous tip and walked to the tee box.
The foursome in front of me had finally cleared the "kill zone". I hit my tee shot. Right down the middle and long. Yippeee! As I loaded back into my cart another cart pulled in behind me. I didn't hear the conversation in detail but I'm pretty sure it was regarding the cart girl and how hot she was. This was going to be good. Say hello to Larry and Wayne. Two sixty somethings who thought they were still in their 20's. I asked if they wanted to join because of the foursome ahead of us and they said sure. I told them I had already teed off. The only disclaimer from both of them was that they were both old and played golf for the beer and to get away from their wives. I love it.
They hit their shots and the result was exactly what I would expect from two sixty somethings. Short and right. We reached their balls and they couldn't believe how far down the fairway my ball was. "Holy Sh**, Larry check that drive out! I've never see a ball that far on this hole." They were impressed. I ended up 15 feet from the pin on my second shot with a putt for eagle. After both tapping in for triples they awaited my putt. In my backswing, the loud and somewhat obnoxious Wayne shouts, "Be a hero!". It was a tough right to left putt that I had no intention of making and had it not squarely hit the back of the cup, it would have gone 10 feet past the hole. But it dropped in. I think they were more excited than me. I tried to keep my composure to appear that I do this all of the time. I was like a duck on water. Calm on the surface but underneath I was paddling like crazy.
On the 9th hole the conversation turns to getting to know each other. I ask them what they do for a living. Larry says he is a retired iron worker which based on the large muscular forearms and the square shoulder build, I believed it. I asked Wayne next and without a hint of a smile or without batting an eye he says, "I'm a retired pimp." I waited for a giggle or a "just kidding" or even some response from Larry but there was dead silence. There were so many things I wanted to say but he just couldn't based on the fact that I think he was totally serious.
I ended up with a 35, 40, +4, 75. It could have been much better. I think my curiousity was cleared however, when after the round, I returned the cart and noticed Wayne putting his clubs into his car. It was a low riding, black, mid 80's Cadillac Seville with tinted windows and crome rims. It was the exact car I would imagine a pimp driving around. A pimp named Wayne no less.
"Mr. Mom"
In my opinion, early September is one of the best times for golf. The temperature drops a bit. The leaves drop. And most of the golf prices drop. So how could I pass up a round of golf while waiting for a customer who changed an appointment from 11:30 to 2:00. Perfect! I can get a quick round of golf in.
Glendale is a course in the middle of the Salt Lake valley. It's one of the more mature courses around and for $26 for 18 holes, a great deal. The majority of pass holders and everyday players at Glendale are a more mature group as well, but as dedicated and loyal as one could be.
I loaded my clubs onto the cart, I don't golf for excercise, and headed to the first tee. Hole number one is a 540 yard dead straight par 5 from the tips. I thought for a moment that I was going to be a single until I spotted middle aged Mike running to the tee with his clubs. He obviously does golf for exercise. From the looks of him I can tell he's a golfer, or at least he golfs a lot. Tan skin. Worn glove. Nice clubs. But then I spot it. The two iron. That's the dead give away. Never bet against someone who can hit a two iron. You'll probably lose. We exchange pleasantries and he asks me which tees I would prefer. I answer and tell him this is only my second time playing the course and the honors are his. He tells me he is a solid 3 and prefers to play the tips. I like the confidence and say "Sounds good to me." And then the disclaimer. (See post "semi-pro" for the definition of the disclaimer) It never fails. he says, "I've played golf everyday this week and am feeling kind of burned out. I'm also going through a swing change." Grrreeeeaaaat! You are a solid 3 and you're going through a swing change? Burned out? From the worn out shoes to the pre-cancerous blemishes on your cheeks I would say its too late for that no? Oh well I knew the disclaimer was coming. Maybe I would bet against him! Secretly I did. He teed up his ball. His approach was decent. His swing actually was pretty solid. His drive started down the right side and turned over quite nicely with a slight draw and ended up in the middle of the fairway about 285 yards. "Impressive", I said. "I've been working on that draw." He proudly stated. I stepped up and hit a decent drive down the left side bouncing 3 times and ending up in the light rough...typical. I wish they would make driving ranges with rough to hit out of instead of fairway. How many times actually do we find ourselves in the fairway for our second shot. Doesn't it make sense to practice hitting out of the rought since that is where we end up 90% of the time? Anyway...I found myself almost throwing out a disclaimer of my own but caught myself. Whew! Mike's second shot was as impressive as his drive. It followed the fairway on the right side bouncing up onto the green and ending up 20 feet from the pin for a chance at eagle. My shot came up short. I chipped on, two putted for par. Mike's putt was short but he tapped in for a birdie. I figured I had my work cut out for me.
On the #2 tee box I started asking the questions I usually ask to get to know someone in hopes that they might give me something for the blog. It usually starts with "What do you do for a living?" Mike predeeded to tell me that his wife had a great job working for a bank and he stayed home and played "Mr. Mom" taking care of the household chores of cooking and cleaning. After furthur investigation, the aforementioned "Mr. Mom" tasks are what Mike's wife thinks he does. On hole number #8 he told me his actual schedule below:
7:00 am - Wake up
8:00 am - Take his son Tanner to school, stopping at McDonald's on the way for breakfast.
8:30 am - 18 holes at Glendale with the men's league
12:00 noon - Lunch at the clubhouse
12:30 pm - Play as many holes as possible until....
2:30 pm - Pick up Tanner from school, hustles home to get as much cleaning done before the wife gets home.
He also proudly addmitted that he also sells odds and ends from around the house on ebay and uses the money to pay his buddy's girlfriend to clean the house 3 days a week. "Mike, what happended to the 13th century statuette I inherited from my Grandpa?"....."Not sure honey, what would you like for dinner?" What a man will go through for golf. It's worse than drugs. I asked him what was the one thing he sold of his wife's that if she ever found out she would kill him. It was some rare porcelain dolls her parents gave her. He said they'd been in the storage unit for years and she'd forgot about them. I asked him what would happen if she remembered. He said she'd throw him out on his a**. I guess it's worth the risk eh?
The afternoon was actually very enjoyable. Mike hit some good shots but I never did see that draw again that he bragged about on his first drive. Slowly it turned into more of a push/fade. He didn't play completely like a solid 3 but more like a lucky 7. He shot a 40, 39 for a +7. I actually played one of my best rounds with a 35, 36, -1. He told me on hole #14 that I was "pretty much kicking his a**". Better to kick than be kicked.
One of the best parts of the day was on hole #6. We had caught a twosome of elderly Asian men. They asked if we wanted to play through and we said sure. They then watch us tee off. I hit the best drive of the day. As I walked to my cart they asked me if I was a pro. I hesitated but Mike quickly said, "Yep, we both are!" picked up his bag and walked down the fairway. It was classic.
By the way, the 2 iron never made it out of the bag.
Glendale is a course in the middle of the Salt Lake valley. It's one of the more mature courses around and for $26 for 18 holes, a great deal. The majority of pass holders and everyday players at Glendale are a more mature group as well, but as dedicated and loyal as one could be.
I loaded my clubs onto the cart, I don't golf for excercise, and headed to the first tee. Hole number one is a 540 yard dead straight par 5 from the tips. I thought for a moment that I was going to be a single until I spotted middle aged Mike running to the tee with his clubs. He obviously does golf for exercise. From the looks of him I can tell he's a golfer, or at least he golfs a lot. Tan skin. Worn glove. Nice clubs. But then I spot it. The two iron. That's the dead give away. Never bet against someone who can hit a two iron. You'll probably lose. We exchange pleasantries and he asks me which tees I would prefer. I answer and tell him this is only my second time playing the course and the honors are his. He tells me he is a solid 3 and prefers to play the tips. I like the confidence and say "Sounds good to me." And then the disclaimer. (See post "semi-pro" for the definition of the disclaimer) It never fails. he says, "I've played golf everyday this week and am feeling kind of burned out. I'm also going through a swing change." Grrreeeeaaaat! You are a solid 3 and you're going through a swing change? Burned out? From the worn out shoes to the pre-cancerous blemishes on your cheeks I would say its too late for that no? Oh well I knew the disclaimer was coming. Maybe I would bet against him! Secretly I did. He teed up his ball. His approach was decent. His swing actually was pretty solid. His drive started down the right side and turned over quite nicely with a slight draw and ended up in the middle of the fairway about 285 yards. "Impressive", I said. "I've been working on that draw." He proudly stated. I stepped up and hit a decent drive down the left side bouncing 3 times and ending up in the light rough...typical. I wish they would make driving ranges with rough to hit out of instead of fairway. How many times actually do we find ourselves in the fairway for our second shot. Doesn't it make sense to practice hitting out of the rought since that is where we end up 90% of the time? Anyway...I found myself almost throwing out a disclaimer of my own but caught myself. Whew! Mike's second shot was as impressive as his drive. It followed the fairway on the right side bouncing up onto the green and ending up 20 feet from the pin for a chance at eagle. My shot came up short. I chipped on, two putted for par. Mike's putt was short but he tapped in for a birdie. I figured I had my work cut out for me.
On the #2 tee box I started asking the questions I usually ask to get to know someone in hopes that they might give me something for the blog. It usually starts with "What do you do for a living?" Mike predeeded to tell me that his wife had a great job working for a bank and he stayed home and played "Mr. Mom" taking care of the household chores of cooking and cleaning. After furthur investigation, the aforementioned "Mr. Mom" tasks are what Mike's wife thinks he does. On hole number #8 he told me his actual schedule below:
7:00 am - Wake up
8:00 am - Take his son Tanner to school, stopping at McDonald's on the way for breakfast.
8:30 am - 18 holes at Glendale with the men's league
12:00 noon - Lunch at the clubhouse
12:30 pm - Play as many holes as possible until....
2:30 pm - Pick up Tanner from school, hustles home to get as much cleaning done before the wife gets home.
He also proudly addmitted that he also sells odds and ends from around the house on ebay and uses the money to pay his buddy's girlfriend to clean the house 3 days a week. "Mike, what happended to the 13th century statuette I inherited from my Grandpa?"....."Not sure honey, what would you like for dinner?" What a man will go through for golf. It's worse than drugs. I asked him what was the one thing he sold of his wife's that if she ever found out she would kill him. It was some rare porcelain dolls her parents gave her. He said they'd been in the storage unit for years and she'd forgot about them. I asked him what would happen if she remembered. He said she'd throw him out on his a**. I guess it's worth the risk eh?
The afternoon was actually very enjoyable. Mike hit some good shots but I never did see that draw again that he bragged about on his first drive. Slowly it turned into more of a push/fade. He didn't play completely like a solid 3 but more like a lucky 7. He shot a 40, 39 for a +7. I actually played one of my best rounds with a 35, 36, -1. He told me on hole #14 that I was "pretty much kicking his a**". Better to kick than be kicked.
One of the best parts of the day was on hole #6. We had caught a twosome of elderly Asian men. They asked if we wanted to play through and we said sure. They then watch us tee off. I hit the best drive of the day. As I walked to my cart they asked me if I was a pro. I hesitated but Mike quickly said, "Yep, we both are!" picked up his bag and walked down the fairway. It was classic.
By the way, the 2 iron never made it out of the bag.
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
"Semi-Pro"
So it was a sunny August day. I called my Brother-in-law Noah to see if he wanted to go play golf at one of my favorite courses, Fox Hollow in American Fork. Of course he was ready and excited to go. Noah has been playing golf for about 5 years or so and has improved as well as anyone I've seen in that amount of time. He still battles an occasional fade but is a solid 8-10 handicapper and is solid from tee to green. (especially since finding his Ping Crazee putter in the weeds off of the #4 tee box at the Ranches...lucky bugger...I would have turned it into the club house). Anyway the clubhouse tells us they've put us with another two-some and I immediately think about an entry into my book. You can rarely play golf with a stranger and not find something worth writing about. We approach the tee box and expect to play the blue tees. We are greeted by a tank top wearing, tattoo sporting, mid 20 year-old guy named Mike. He excitedly shook our hands and we introduced ourselves. I asked where his partner was and he informed us he was getting a drink, (little did we know a drink was actually a twelve pack of Bud Light from the truck). We asked which tees they would like to play. I assumed from the tank top and low heal adidas tennies he was wearing that whichever tees we used, his next shot would be from the women's tees. He said he didn't care but his buddy Dave would probably want to play the tips (blacks) 'cause he was basically a semi-pro golfer. Oh boy! I knew this would be good. A semi-pro. I was either going to learn from a great golfer or I was going to have a great chapter in my book. The latter proved to be correct.
As the three of us awaited the Semi-pro on the tee, Mike proceeded to give us his "disclaimer". I have played hundreds of rounds of golf with strangers and never, not once, have I not heard a disclaimer on the first tee. A disclaimer is when a golfer lets you know before hand why this will probably be the worst round of golf they've ever played. They may have shot a 71 yesterday but they didn't have the ache in their wrist they have today. Or that was before they tweaked their left ankle while pulling their clubs out of the El Camino that morning. There is always a disclaimer and Mike's was that he had just go off the late shift at the hotel (more to come on the hotel, not until hole 16).
Noah tees off and hits a good shot down the right side of the fairway. I end up in the fairway too. Mike addresses his ball and swings away as if there are two runners on base and he must put one in the gap to score them in the bottom of the ninth. I whisper to Noah to turn his head next time and don't watch that again...its not a pretty thing. Trust me. His ball goes dead straight and ends up 3 yards in front of the women's tees. Better than I thought. Oh boy...this could be a long day. But at least his partner Dave, the semi-pro will make up for it and speed things up. Dave finally arrives, 12 pack in the back basket, takes out his driver and walks onto the tee box. From what I see I'm a believer. Nice golf shirt. Cargo shorts. New adidas golf shoes. I'm impressed. Then the first red flag. He pulls out his ball. Before teeing up we hear the disclaimer. "My friend gave me this ball and so I'm going to use it today. I think its just a novelty ball but oh well. " Are you kidding me? Its a golf ball painted like a football. It's brown dude. However, I give him the benefit of the doubt and think he must always be in the fairway because there is not way you could find that ball in the rough. (He also adds in there somewhere that he shot a 68 the day before. I think he said something about a bad back too) As he approaches the ball, the second red flag waves itself. On the top of his Taylormade R7 driver is a Baltimore Ravens sticker. Not a clear sticker made for golf clubs. It's one of those you get in the gum ball machine at Kohler's. That's not something you see on tour. Ever! Wow! Semi-pro really? The third and final red flag was his swing. Although it was much better than his counterpart Mike, it made Jim Furyk look like the poster boy for the fundamental golf swing. Starting down the left side of the fairway, the football quickly accelerated to the right side of the fairway with a nasty slice and landed in the fairway of #10. The worst shot on #1 I've ever seen at Fox Hollow. Fortunately it ended up in a fairway or the brown ball would have been lost. Unfortunately the ball met it's fate on the 3rd hole when again with a sweeping fade it found the right side rough and was never heard from again....that is until it was probably gobbled up by a mower. Semi-pro started off 8, 7, 5, 6, 6. He did birdie two holes on the front and show some potential. Not semi-pro potential but potential for something. Not sure what. I didn't keep score for Mike. I figured it would just be easier to score him based on how many balls he lost. I counted 13 after 5 holes and then figured I'd save pencil lead and stopped keeping track.
I heard Mike tell Dave on #6 that he was hoping to get on with the Grizzlies this year. Not meaning to pry I asked which Grizzlies. "The Salt Lake Grizzlies hockey team. I'm a semi-pro hockey player", he said. Visions of Happy Gilmore came to mind. Enough said.
As we made the turn, Mike and Dave disappeared for a bit. They finally met us on the tee with a new 12 pack of Bud Light.
On the #10 green, which Dave reached in 2 shots, impressive, I noticed his large tattoo on his right calf. It was a large Asian symbol of some sort. The same you see on a lot of the NBA guy's arms. Most of the time they mean something like, "Passion" or "Determination" or "Valor". So I asked him what his meant. He quickly said. "I have no idea. I passed out at a party in college. Woke up the next day and had this on my calf. I've asked every Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese and Asian person I've ever met and no one knows!" It took 3 more holes and 2 bogies to stop laughing at that one. I know what it means. It means, "I passed out at a party and my drunk buddies tattooed this on my calf so that I would look like an idiot when someone asked me what it meant." Funny Funny
On hole number #14, I said something to Noah in spanish. He went to Peru on his mission and I went to Spain. We often will say things in spanish to each other for fun. Semi-Pro hockey player Mike recognized the spanish and asked where we served our missions and then proceeded to let us know he served hi mission in LA, spanish speaking and got back a few years ago. I guess he'd been back long enough to add a few tattoos to his collage, pierce his nose, golf in tank tops and use some form of profanity in almost every sentence he spoke. You learn something everyday.
Now back to hole #16 I referred to earlier. The conversation turned to work and what each of us did for a living. Mike said he was working at the La Quinta in Orem but this was his last week before he started playing hockey again. He told us he could get us a killer deal even free since he was leaving. He said, "In fact last night, I told a guy he could have a suite for $50 bucks instead of $150. He gave me a $50 dollar bill and I booked it. I pocketed the $50 bucks too." Unbelievable. His last sentence capped off an entertaining day of golf and gave Noah and I something to talk about for years to come. He said "I may be going to Hell but I'm going $50 bucks richer!"
Noah shot an 84
I shot a 78
I think Mike lost a good 20 balls.
and Semi Pro Dave shot a solid 95, but I bet he shot 67 the next day.
As the three of us awaited the Semi-pro on the tee, Mike proceeded to give us his "disclaimer". I have played hundreds of rounds of golf with strangers and never, not once, have I not heard a disclaimer on the first tee. A disclaimer is when a golfer lets you know before hand why this will probably be the worst round of golf they've ever played. They may have shot a 71 yesterday but they didn't have the ache in their wrist they have today. Or that was before they tweaked their left ankle while pulling their clubs out of the El Camino that morning. There is always a disclaimer and Mike's was that he had just go off the late shift at the hotel (more to come on the hotel, not until hole 16).
Noah tees off and hits a good shot down the right side of the fairway. I end up in the fairway too. Mike addresses his ball and swings away as if there are two runners on base and he must put one in the gap to score them in the bottom of the ninth. I whisper to Noah to turn his head next time and don't watch that again...its not a pretty thing. Trust me. His ball goes dead straight and ends up 3 yards in front of the women's tees. Better than I thought. Oh boy...this could be a long day. But at least his partner Dave, the semi-pro will make up for it and speed things up. Dave finally arrives, 12 pack in the back basket, takes out his driver and walks onto the tee box. From what I see I'm a believer. Nice golf shirt. Cargo shorts. New adidas golf shoes. I'm impressed. Then the first red flag. He pulls out his ball. Before teeing up we hear the disclaimer. "My friend gave me this ball and so I'm going to use it today. I think its just a novelty ball but oh well. " Are you kidding me? Its a golf ball painted like a football. It's brown dude. However, I give him the benefit of the doubt and think he must always be in the fairway because there is not way you could find that ball in the rough. (He also adds in there somewhere that he shot a 68 the day before. I think he said something about a bad back too) As he approaches the ball, the second red flag waves itself. On the top of his Taylormade R7 driver is a Baltimore Ravens sticker. Not a clear sticker made for golf clubs. It's one of those you get in the gum ball machine at Kohler's. That's not something you see on tour. Ever! Wow! Semi-pro really? The third and final red flag was his swing. Although it was much better than his counterpart Mike, it made Jim Furyk look like the poster boy for the fundamental golf swing. Starting down the left side of the fairway, the football quickly accelerated to the right side of the fairway with a nasty slice and landed in the fairway of #10. The worst shot on #1 I've ever seen at Fox Hollow. Fortunately it ended up in a fairway or the brown ball would have been lost. Unfortunately the ball met it's fate on the 3rd hole when again with a sweeping fade it found the right side rough and was never heard from again....that is until it was probably gobbled up by a mower. Semi-pro started off 8, 7, 5, 6, 6. He did birdie two holes on the front and show some potential. Not semi-pro potential but potential for something. Not sure what. I didn't keep score for Mike. I figured it would just be easier to score him based on how many balls he lost. I counted 13 after 5 holes and then figured I'd save pencil lead and stopped keeping track.
I heard Mike tell Dave on #6 that he was hoping to get on with the Grizzlies this year. Not meaning to pry I asked which Grizzlies. "The Salt Lake Grizzlies hockey team. I'm a semi-pro hockey player", he said. Visions of Happy Gilmore came to mind. Enough said.
As we made the turn, Mike and Dave disappeared for a bit. They finally met us on the tee with a new 12 pack of Bud Light.
On the #10 green, which Dave reached in 2 shots, impressive, I noticed his large tattoo on his right calf. It was a large Asian symbol of some sort. The same you see on a lot of the NBA guy's arms. Most of the time they mean something like, "Passion" or "Determination" or "Valor". So I asked him what his meant. He quickly said. "I have no idea. I passed out at a party in college. Woke up the next day and had this on my calf. I've asked every Japanese, Chinese, Vietnamese and Asian person I've ever met and no one knows!" It took 3 more holes and 2 bogies to stop laughing at that one. I know what it means. It means, "I passed out at a party and my drunk buddies tattooed this on my calf so that I would look like an idiot when someone asked me what it meant." Funny Funny
On hole number #14, I said something to Noah in spanish. He went to Peru on his mission and I went to Spain. We often will say things in spanish to each other for fun. Semi-Pro hockey player Mike recognized the spanish and asked where we served our missions and then proceeded to let us know he served hi mission in LA, spanish speaking and got back a few years ago. I guess he'd been back long enough to add a few tattoos to his collage, pierce his nose, golf in tank tops and use some form of profanity in almost every sentence he spoke. You learn something everyday.
Now back to hole #16 I referred to earlier. The conversation turned to work and what each of us did for a living. Mike said he was working at the La Quinta in Orem but this was his last week before he started playing hockey again. He told us he could get us a killer deal even free since he was leaving. He said, "In fact last night, I told a guy he could have a suite for $50 bucks instead of $150. He gave me a $50 dollar bill and I booked it. I pocketed the $50 bucks too." Unbelievable. His last sentence capped off an entertaining day of golf and gave Noah and I something to talk about for years to come. He said "I may be going to Hell but I'm going $50 bucks richer!"
Noah shot an 84
I shot a 78
I think Mike lost a good 20 balls.
and Semi Pro Dave shot a solid 95, but I bet he shot 67 the next day.
So here it is.
I've been telling myself for the last year that I was going to write a book about my experiences I have had on the golf course with different people but never got around to putting it together. And then it hit me. Join the 21st century and start a blog. It's a lot easier than have to create an entire book. It is somewhat ironic that I am in the printing and publishing business yet chose to do this electronically than conventionally but maybe someday I'll have enough material to but it in book form. Some of these posts will be from experiences that happened in the past but I will try and update this blog with expereinces that happen each time I play which isn't as much as I would like.
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