"The Old Man"

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!