The Moral Of The Story
Higgins

 

       It was the kind of day that is ideal for golf. The sky was clear and the day was

Sunday. There was a gentle breeze which made leisurely walk a pleasure. The sun was

beating down on the dew dampened fairways.

       It was 9:00 in the morning and Karl had already been on the practice putting green

for 15 minutes. He was to meet Sam, Fred, and Larry on the first tee at 9:15. None of

them were members and the green fees were $120.00, including carts, on Sundays. But

it was a beautiful day and the golf season was almost over.

       At 10:30 they gained the first tee after waiting for seven foursomes which were

ahead of them. Karl had been so annoyed by the delay that he initiated the game by duck-

hooking a shiny new titleist into the center of the stream bordering the first fairway.

       �That�s O.K.,� exclaimed Sam. �Hit another one, Karl. We�ll play Mulligans on the

first tee.�

       �God Damn, Mulligan,�said Karl. �I don�t need any Mulligans. If all those slow

players hadn�t been ahead of us, this never would have happened. I�m going to hit

another tee shot and then I�ll be lying three and not lying.� He proceeded to pump

another tee shot into the same part of the stream. On his third try he skied one in the

general direction of the center of the fairway.

        �One hundred and fifty yards up and one hundred and fifty out,� commented Fred.

Fred was next on the tee and he looked up and topped the ball, but it just man-

aged to reach the creek and dribbled in. �Jesus, it�s contagious,� suggested Fred.

       �Come on, Karl, let�s take Mulligans. We�ll both be a hell of a lot better off. On the

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       first tee it�s not like cheating. Just think of it as starting over again.�

       �No, God Damn it; I�m counting all of my strokes. You do what you want, said

Karl.�

       �You miserable bastard. You know your words are sealing my fate.�

       �O.K., you guys, break it up,� Sam interrupted. �Let�s get this show on the road.

Hit another one Fred. You�re on deck, Larry.� Fred pushed his next try to the right

and it ended up in heavy rough. Larry then hit a long drive down the left side of the

fairway but it ended up directly behind a tree. Sam hit his first shot of the day way to

the right and out of bounds, so he too was obliged to take a penalty. But his second

was way down the middle of the fairway and well hit.

        By the time they reached the fourth tee each of the players had made so many bad

shots that that the possibility of any one in the foursome �breaking a hundred�

had been precluded. Also, to the horror of the other three players in their group, Sam

had begun to shank. Most amateurs and even some professional golfers view

shanking as a disease. Some even think it is contagious. For this reason, once Sam

had begun shanking the others looked away from him when he was hitting. What

causes shanking? Most pros would say that it occurs than the ball is struck on the

heel or the shank of the club. But what is the real cause? Some speculate that the

golfer is standing too far from the ball. Others might say the problem is floppy

wrists or looking up. What is the result of such a shot? The ball goes well to the right

of the intended target, ill struck, clearly not hit in the sweet spot, and it gives the

player a sinking feeling.

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          Concurrent with Sam�s shanking behavior, Fred had acquired the yips. It is

said that the yips, which usually paralizes the player�s putting, has driven world class

 professional golfers, such as Byron Nelson and Ben Hogan, into retirement. In Fred�s

 case, he couldn�t even pull back his driver.

         Sam stopped, turned, and smiling at the other three players in his foursome said,

�What would you rather have, the shanks or the yips?�

         Fred was only 25 years old and yet he was already using one of those long putters

which one sees so often on the Senior PGA circuit. Furthermore, he putted cross-handed.

This sort of behavior is reminiscient, in its horror, of an Edgar Allan Poe short story or

poem. Fred was once seen to stand over a five foot putt for four minutes and then was

unable to draw back the putter. When he finally did, he knocked the ball 25 feet beyond

the hole and into a sand trap.

         While this foursome was hacking its way around the course, the sunny and

cloudless day had rapidly changed to one overcast and gloomy and the possibility of

rain had presented itself. No sooner had they hit from the seventh tee when the rain

began, first mist-like and then quickly becoming drops as large and as penetrating as

hailstones. A shelter was near the seventh tee, but all four were wet by the time they

reached it. Twenty minutes later the rain subsided. The skies, however, remained a

dismal gray. The men ventured forth and after a long and aggravating search they

found their tee shots. The rain had been so heavy that the fairways had become

sodden marshes and the greens were like pools. The rough and the woods were

unthinkably sodden.

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         The eighth hole was a par three and its green was banked toward the tee. Karl had

gained the honors by snagging a double bogey seven on the par five seventh hole. He

proceeded to execute a fine five iron shot and the ball stopped just 15 feet short of

the hole. The tee shots of the others ended up in the general vicinity of the green.

Larry�s shot caught the trap to the left of the green. Since the trap was like a

miniature lake the others allowed him to take it out. The green turned out to be a

literal river and so Karl�s first putt was, of necessity, against the current. He tried to

anticipate the resistance which would hamper his uphill, or upstream, putt by taking

almost a full swing with his putter, and surprisingly enough he hit the ball solidly,

but it struggled scarcely five feet before it was brought to a hissing halt by the soggy

grass. Although the others were almost choking with laughter, when their turn came

the same sort of thing happened, and Karl finally managed to get down in two more

shots, which enabled him to retain the honors.

         It began to sprinkle again. Karl made the nine hole turn in 57, five shots better

Than his closest competitor. The light rain continued for the next five holes. All four

 players were determined to get their 18 holes in, since they knew the old Scottish

professional, Willie Turner, would never refund them their green fees. As they

splashed their way to the fifteenth green, the rain again increased, and by the time

they reached a shelter, the skies were belching forth torrents of rain.

        �God Damn that Willie Turner,� exclaimed Karl. �If it hadn�t been for him we

would have quit after the sixth hole, the old tightwad bastard. And you know what he

would say about this weather? �A little rain won�t hurt ye, laddie. Are you meed of

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sugar?��

         �Karl, you know damned well you wouldn�t have quit after the sixth hole, even

with a full raincheck,� replied Sam. Karl smiled sheepishly and looked up at the sky.

�I wish this bastardly rain would stop.�

          The shelter they were occupying seemed an erstwhile barn. They had been

obliged to gallop through rough over two feet deep to gain the shelter. Most of the

windows in the building were broken and the floor was covered with the broken

glass. Nevertheless, they had protection from the rain. The main part of the structure

was a large and vacant room. But there was a door toward the back of the room

which led to a smaller room.

           �I wonder what�s in that next room?� questioned Fred.

           �Four revolving blondes complete with a case of V.O., mix, ice cubes, glasses,

matches,and a dry carton of cigarettes,� answered Sam.

           �You certainly are a dreamer,� said Larry, who then told the other three golfers

a story about his uncle, Max.

           �Max was an alcoholic, but well off financially. His aunt was immensely

wealthy, said to be worth over 100 million dollars. Max loved to play golf. Once he

played in a team calcutta golf tournement which was structured so amateur golfers

could select a partner and play for money. And others could bet on the various teams.

Max�s partner was a 20 handicapper, but on the day of the tournement was playing

much better than his handicap. Max had been drinking some Wild Turkey in the

locker room before they teed off and so was playing terribly. He picked up on almost

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every hole, but his partner kept them in the match, as the score for each hole was

computed by using the best ball of the team, taking into account their handicaps.

After 18 holes the match was all even and they went into sudden death,� said Larry.

 �Finally, on the 21st hole,� chuckled Larry, �Max carefully examined the roll of the

 green and stroked in a 75 foot putt to win the match, saying, �I always come through

 in the clutch.��

           The rain had lessened and the golfers opened the door and gazed out at the wet

world. Karl left the building, poking along with his wedge in the grass. Suddenly he

dashed back into the building.

          �What is it, Karl?� inquired Sam.

          �Jesus, I heard a rattling noise, sounding like a rattlesnake. Come on out with

me, Sam, real slow like, and let�s see what made the noise.�

           The two men left the barn. The other two crouched, fearful, in its recesses. Karl

poked gently at the clump of grass that seemed to emit the noise. Sam squinted his

eyes, trying to see what it was. Suddenly, like miniature airplanes, rising in a

formation, a great number of bees, unusually large, rose slowly from the clump of

grass. Karl and Sam moved away cautiously. When they regained the shelter they

informed their colleagues of the news.

         �God Damn, what will we do? They�ll fly right through those busted windows,�

screamed Fred.

         Then the rear door opened and four lovely, curvy, golden-haired women, each



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dressed in bright red shorts, a coal black sweater, and black high heels entered the

larger room.They carried with them a case of V.O., complete with glasses, mix, and

ice, and cigarettes and matches, obviously dry. At the same time the sun broke

through the clouds and the bees settled back to their clump of grass.

       The Moral of the Story- If someone inquires as to whether or not you have had an

       enjoyable round of golf, and if the game itself did not turn out too well, always reply

       by saying �It was a nice day in the country.�





        

       

 

 

Copyright © 2004 Higgins
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