Golf requires more belief than most major religions. -Intellectual Shaman
I was playing my final holes to decide if I would make the traveling team. Jeff teed up his ball with his Red-wing driver and sliced it into the woods.
“You suck,” Brad said. He pulled a 3 iron out of his bag and crushed it down the fairway.
I followed him with my driver; my ball landed in the trees. “It’s not looking too good for you,” Brad said. I drank an ice-cold Mountain Dew and contemplated my comeback shot. I had to hit it between two oaks. I choked down on my club and bashed the ball. It ran 150 yards and plopped onto the green. Brad looked disappointed. He crushed his drive on the next hole and a dog ran out of the housing developments and ate it. “Hey, that’s my ball!” He yelled.
“Jeff, what are you doing?” I asked. He was flipping through the rules of golf. “I’m just trying to figure out Brad’s penalty. I can’t find animal interference in here. Maybe it counts as a lost ball. That’ll be two strokes.”
“Why don’t you shut the hell up, Jeff!” Brad yelled. And my friend smiled behind his rule book.
The next par 4 was drivable, but it was a gamble. I teed up my 3 wood and hit a power shot.
“I hope you brought sun-tan lotion for the beach,” Brad said. And my ball sunk into the sand. The clouds began to shift and the winds blew. It was dark one second and blue skies the next. I felt like the sun was smiling on me when I grabbed my wedge. I dug in my heals and cut the beach with a smooth stroke and my ball lifted out of the sand gently, rolling towards the hole. It twisted along the green and dropped. “Eagle!” Jeff shouted. “Some hacks get lucky,” Brad said.
It started to rain, but we could see blue skies on the other side of the golf course. A rainbow appeared in the distance and Brad pulled out his 3 iron again.
“Why are you going to hit that?” Jeff asked. “It’s called golf course management; something you wouldn’t know anything about,” Brad said. He swung through the ball and the club flew out of his hands.
“Wow!” Jeff said. “The club went farther than the ball.”
“Shut your face!” Brad yelled. And Jeff laughed maniacally until his face turned purple. Suddenly, it started to hail and the fairways turned white.
“This round of golf is going to be impossible to finish,” I said. But 30 seconds later, the sun came out and melted the ice. If things couldn’t get any stranger, it started to snow. We all birdied the next hole and parred number 8. The sun set on the last hole with trees silhouetted against a blood-red backdrop.
We hit are shots and walked up the fairway into heaven.
“If you make the traveling team Jeff, we’re screwed,” Brad said. Something odd was happening to Jeff’s body. It went all rigid and his muscles flexed. He lunged at Brad and nailed him under the chin with a tremendous uppercut. Brad went down and then wobbled to his knees and puked. We finished our 9 and all made the traveling team.
I play golf with Brad or Jeff from time to time and they still ask about each other. It’s funny, when you hate someone, you remember them for a lifetime.