One of my favourite golfing partners (if by ‘partner’ I mean someone I ardently hope does poorly and screws up so I can come out ahead... much like a marriage partner) is my oldest brother, Bob. To say that my fine frère is a real character is an understatement in the league of “the Edmonton Eskimos are a wee bit unlucky this year”.
I had just come home from another successful golf outing with Bob (successful in that we returned home with more balls than we left with; our principal goal) and felt a bit sore. The room was dark to keep it cool from the evening sun and I collapsed into the recliner with The Golf Network (aka Nap TV) muttering in the background. Slowly, inevitably, my eyelids grew heavier than Lady Gaga’s makeup. With the golf announcers’ hushed tones mingling with my recent adventures on the links, I was suddenly transported to the first tee off with Bob, except this time, we had a gallery much like at the Master’s, and our game was being broadcast internationally. We take you now to the first tee in this most fateful of all golf match-ups between bitter rivals Bob and Chris.
Announcer #1: Well, David, it is a beautiful day here at Thorsby Golf and Temporary Shack and here comes Bob to tee off. He is dressed in his trademark work coveralls and silly hat. The crowd shrinks back a bit, remembering how often he lets fly off the toe of his driver.
Announcer #2: Bob addresses the ball.... here’s the backswing and.... ooohhhhh, swing and a miss. He is going to call that one a practise swing and line up again. The crowd takes another discrete step back...Okay, here’s the backswing again and... oh dear, he shanked it into the water to the right of the fairway about a hundred yards up.
Announcer #1: That’s not that big of a problem to him, David, as he will just beat the weeds around the hazard until he finds a ball and then claim it was the one he lost.
Announcer #2: Right you are, Jim. That manoeuvre is almost as well known in the local golf community as the fact that Chris’ favourite club, aside from his ball retriever, is the “foot club” whereby he gives his ball a bit of a kick to get a better lie.
Announcer #1: And here comes Chris now, decked out in a Pink Floyd tee shirt and jean cutoffs, his legs covered in a thick layer of mosquitoes. They almost look like grey leg warmers from the 70’s.
Announcer #2: Here’s Chris’ backswing and.... oh my gosh! He’s hit an old lady in the gallery square in the forehead! Chris tells Bob it is an unnatural hazard and that he gets another drive. The crowd is well back now with some spectators hiding behind trees or fatter spectators. And here comes his shot and..... He topped the ball! The ball has at least made it just past the ladies tee, sparing him the indignity of that old tradition.
Announcer #1: I noticed that Chris’ club went about ten yards farther than his ball.
Announcer #2: Yes, he’s got quite an arm on him when he’s frustrated. May I, at this time, remind viewers there are a lot more interesting thing on other networks...
Announcer #1: Okay so now Bob has “found” his ball in the reeds by the water hazard and with a splendid drive off the steel toe of his work boot has landed in the middle of the fairway. The crowd applauds appreciatively at the irony. Apparently, Chris isn’t the only one with a foot club in his bag.
Announcer #2: Chris is trying out his fairway driver and... he hit the ground behind the ball! The ball has gone ahead maybe a foot. Chris slams his driver against the ground and trades it for a 3 iron in disgust. He takes another mighty swing and sends the ball forward another twenty yards.
Announcer #1: Did you see the size of that divot, David? I’ve seen smaller chunks of turf on a sod truck.
Announcer #2: I’d have to agree, Jim. We haven’t seen dirt like that flying around since the last municipal election.
At this point, Cupcake woke me from my reverie to help set the table for supper. I was very relieved. Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
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