Golf: The ride

My exposure to golf was actually started in college years. My friend Steve wanted me to go hit some balls in the driving range. He even lend me his new irons. We were out at the old Storm on Bluemound Rd. and it was a busy afternoon there. I swing and mis-connect a lot and then the club flew out of my hands, went further than the grounder I just hit and stuck straight up in the middle of the range. Of course I had to do the walk of shame while ducking a few aimed drives and even more damaging insults.

You would be surprised if I would even pick up another club after traumatic experience like that. At Bill's urging, I decided to take up golf and went golfing with him. I picked up my K-Mart special set of golf clubs: a deeply discounted Fuzzy Zoeller set after he made his infamous watermelon remarks to Tiger Woods. I AM A GOLFER!

Learning to play was pretty interesting with Bill. He was a much better golfer, and he can actually get his score under 100. I would be lucky if I can get it under 120. The point was actually to get out and be one with the course. With all the frustration, just one good swing can take away all that. Even though Bill and I spent a lot of time out of bound looking for balls, and could never figure out how to play on the fairway when we accidentally hit one straight and land one there, golf was a very good aerobic workout.

Then came Golf: The ride. We were out early at our favorite course Kettle Marine, and the grass was quite wet yet. We drove the cart up down this hill and the cart lost all traction and was did a 360 as we slided down the hill. That was the beginning of all our trouble with golf cart.

At this par 3 at Edgewood by the water fountain/bubblier, I took a drink and grabbed my iron and walked up to the tee box. Bill would sit in the passenger side and reached over and drove the cart. Somehow that day the ground was slippery or something, he lost control and drove right into the woods. I turned around after I hear the crash. The roof of the cart was crushed under a tree and the bumper came off the cart. Of course the game was going down hill after that. We tried to fix up the cart as much as we can, but without heavy tool we can only get the roof back about 3 quarter of the way, and we threw the bumper to the rear basket. At the clubhouse, Bill, being Bill, went to the attendant hat in hand to explain. The attendant took a look, waved him off. " OH, THIS HAPPENS ALL THE TIME! "

Another golf story was the time Bill took a swim: We were at this Par 4 at Kettle Marine, we had to drive past a water hazard and go Dog leg right since there is another water hazard on the left. Bill took out the Big Dog and hit it straight to the left, I actually sliced to the right and stayed dry. We went up to the swamp area and Bill asked me where his ball landed. I pointed straight ahead, so he took a step and sunk into the ground, but he was in motion for the next step and he was half way in the swamp. To add salt to the wound, I looked to my left, his ball was right next to me on the dry ground. I did not know how Bill finish the 18 in wet pants but he did. When he told this story, usually with dagger eyes and " MY BUDDY GEORGE!"

Bill and I had some very special memories on the course, we played 18 in pouring rain, putted the green with 2 inches of water; we also saw some very beautiful scenes: cranes in the morning sun, greens shimmering in the sun with morning dew, Swallows circling the green in large groups, but those are for me to treasure forever.

I stopped playing golf few years later to Bill's dismay, I chipped a bone on my thumb due to hitting the ground too hard. The real reason which I did not tell him was more financial at that time. I just never did go back after that. I know he was very disappointed.

I made a promise to him that after he passed away, I would take him out there once more. Even though my game was pretty terrible as usual that morning, I knew he was out there with me as I spread his ashes from hole to hole. There were this big crane standing in the middle of the fairway, I said, DON'T WORRY, CRANE. and I sliced to the right into the rough as usual. I did hit it straight on the Avon Lady hole which we usually sliced to the right and onto some people's front lawn. It was an emotional morning for me and I buried the ball in the memorial I had built for him.



Sitting in the clubhouse bar by myself was just not the same. No Corona, no chili dog, no remarks to attendant's toupee. I do miss my buddy Bill dearly, but he is truly one with the course now.