The Red Tease

It happened on the 16^th fairway, the sounds and smells of a pitcher of 805 being poured suddenly permeated the senses.  I asked Dick and Coach, after they stopped Wade from throwing a rope over a large oak tree branch, if they caught the aroma. Both paused, sniffed the air, and looked at each other- then with perfect patronage nodded their head and allowed their mouths to leak a weak smile.  It only got “worse” no, worse is not the word “better” as we were putting out, Wade missed a two-incher and Coach pointed accusingly and said, “That’s why we putt everything out”!  Dick and I prayed Wade would not bury his putter in Coaches gray matter, he didn’t.  Then Dick suddenly caught the scent: his included chicken wings. We rushed to the 17^th knowing our score was so atrocious it was unnecessary to ask numbers- in fact after the front nine it was clear it was every skin for himself! 

The 18^th was so “memorable” we didn’t fill in the scores until finally biting into small spices pieces of chicken begging to be washed down with 805.

Dick covered our scorecard with a napkin and placed the salt and pepper shakers atop the napkin.  We all nodded a tiny nod scolded the waiter when he attempted to remove the napkin.  “Do you need that hand”, Wade asked. The waiter literally backed off, bowed and was absent during most of what followed.

The first brew did soften things, conversations included; fishing, camping, bowling, darts and a girl named Lucille.  An hour later our competition strode in, Alan’s tanned face confident, sat down and causally announced their score.  The winced didn’t go un-noticed- but then of course we expected to be obliterated, what we didn’t expect was to be atomized as well. Joe, Fred and Lyle all looked like they just had great sex and wanted cigarettes. 

Look, red tees, white tees or blues… if the game ain’t there, it ain’t.  And predicting how you’re NOT going hit the ball doesn’t improve your chances.  I suggest when you’re in that downward spiral you lift yourself out or away with imaging that first great sip of Pinot, cleavage, that time when the Chippy let you go with a warning or that one good shot you had during the round- of course it won’t camouflage your 126 score (from the Red Tee’s) but you gotta walk away with something!

I imagine those old Burma shave signs, myself. Strewn along the last 3 holes reminding me true spirit can be ignored when it’s poured!

swings: Dick, Coach and Raggio

Some of the boys...

                                        LYLE AND JOE

SAM AND COACH

SAM AND RAGGIO

                                                          JOHNNY WADE

RIVA

                                                         DENNY AND DICK

                                           
                                                   ALAN

Hydrating wit?

Riva turned down the music in the truck and paused; something relevant was obviously going to be pitched across his seat.  “You know, Raggio, your humor is getting drier and drier—some of the guys are actually hydrating before they come to the course.”  I pondered the statement that bordered on accusation and decided to play “surprised” as Riva once again drove up behind the car in front us, the shadow of his truck encompassing it, causing the driver to pull into the oncoming lane to let us by.

“I know not of what you speak,” I replied, feigning an innocence I’ve never owned.  

“Uh-huh, well, for example, when Wade started to say something and then stopped apologizing for ‘losing his train of thought’ and you replied, ‘No worries, I’m sure it was only a Lionel.’”

I again assessed the statement and realized while it could be interpreted as arrogance there is no way arrogance could survive on a golf course.  I am continually humbled on and off during my entire round; shank, top, fat, hook, slice, miss, chunk and myriad other demons await in every back swing! 

(Passing a truck at Mach 5)  

So what are my choices here? I talk to myself during a round (aloud and not) in an effort to regain what the years have stolen from me. I realize sometimes my partner will, out of respect, not tee off until I’ve applied a period to my silent, but obvious, ranting.  In an effort not to go too deep into the technique of the game and interfere with what I have convinced myself I have “conquered” in my game, I have narrowed my thinking like a nearly fully blocked artery to allow only free verse to escape.  

(Hard break, shoulder skid and sideways re-entry onto 41)

Hydrating … that’s pretty severe. I thought about the teams I play with and tried recalling the pungent darts that I involuntarily applied.

“You do know, if there wasn’t gravity, that slice could come back and kill you …”  Okay, that one was probably unnecessary.

How does one leave Phelps and Coach alone? Every shot is examined like a possible amputation is in the offing. I hate them (especially Fred, who is responsible for global warming and several incurable rashes) and Coach, who narrates his game like ESPN is following him around! Then there’s Denny, who clearly is softening us all up for that day when he contributes his $10, and who never feels guilty about taking a regular stipend from us!  And what about Sam, who in one moment has to reapply the top of his head and, in the next, makes some mind-blowing shot or putt, followed by a laughter and a saunter like he knew all along! And please, if there is a “wit” in the group, who can deny Dick has that crown? A whispered sentence and then the retroactive response that always seems to appear in one’s back swing! Let’s talk about Joe for a moment—the reincarnation of Mickey Mantle, he either sends a missile into someone’s yard or produces a monster drive his teammates go into shock about! John Wade: Mr. 89. It was the day he left “I can’t” behind … and did. All sympathy lost, John!  Lyle swings under that hat in a fashion and regularity that reminds me how much I miss the middle of the fairway. Using tools that the Smithsonian is salivating to acquire, how the hell can I leave that one alone? And finally Alan, who under that shirt must be wearing a large “S” because hitting the ball that far is not human. Mr. ET has been absent most of the summer because of his work on the fires—kudos to you, Al!

Riva skids to a stop in the lot and smiles, explains how he appreciates my humor… but there’s a silent “but” attached to the sentence. Wayne shows up and I realize I was about to say my mother had curtains exactly like his shirt. I bite my tongue and realize if I don’t say it, it will be in my head all day. I go over to the dumpster and whisper it unseen.  I feel better until I see something else that warrants a comment.  It’s then I realize why we all “hydrate” with beer after the round, and the collection of thoughts I have about my game, my life and the direction of both—I call for another pitcher.

This is perhaps the best group of men I’ve had the pleasure to play with. They tolerate me and that’s no easy task, but it’s more than that.  And not just more because we slog through the same shit every round expecting more, accepting less. It’s more about the way we’ve accepted each other, and there is no circumstance that treads on that.  

(Riva drives just fine btw …)

This is about a foursome who all shot 89.

Coach-89
Raggio-89
Dick-89 
and John Wade-89!  (a first)

30 points scored- Wade lead the team in points gained...

It was one of those days where someone stepped up on nearly every hole.  Wade drove and putted like a man with a mission; he even chipped well- of course we pointed out that the complaint about playing from the "Whites" would no-longer hole water and that all sympathy in that direction had now been compromised, forever!

Dick was in the fairway nearly every hole, Coach stepped up every time the threat of reversal appeared, I had a record drive on #4 and Wade just played and played and...

Here are some clips for the day, included are the other teams hits on 17-

Coach:

Dick:

Wade:

Raggio:

Riva, Sam, Dale and Lyle:

Sam:

Lyle:

Better Video!

10/12/17- Coach, Sam, Wade and Dennis

10/11/17

Video clips came out too large to post-  ;-(   I will work on the answer and see if I reduce the resolution, they came out really clear; just too large!

Swings: Phelps, Wade, Dennis

The "Gal" and Swings: Coach, Raggio and Dennis

The Pup

Swings; Fred, Coach and Raggio