There was a slight scuffle as I attempted to remove him from the
bag. The other clubs began banging into each other in protest, perhaps
projecting to a day when they too would be evicted. Even the new AP1s rattled, although
with head covers on, they only made pathetic muffled noises.
"Merlin," the RBZ 3 wood that resided in my bag for years,
was stoic and proud. He attempted in vain to quell his sister clubs—4 hybrid
and 3 hybrid—from clashing and striving to rally the bag into a full
mutiny. It was only when Merlin began recounting shots and admitting he
was looking forward to retirement that the situation quieted and an attempt at
normalcy arrived and eventually prevailed. As Merlin recounted certain
epic shots, cheers rattled throughout the bag, and even the balls and tees that
were not present during those fabled shots offered celebration and respect.
When I finally accomplished full removal and Merlin was gently
leaned onto past heroes in the garage, a silence came over the bag as the
expected rookie replacement finally appeared and was carefully lodged in his
place among the drivers. You could have heard a tee drop in
grass!
Titleist 917 F2, knowing how volatile things could get, wisely
appeared timid and appreciative of the opportunity. He was warned immediately
by the Odyssey putter that the initiation would be long and difficult, but that
eventually he'd get a “grip” on things. The joke was roundly appreciated,
except by Merlin's sisters, who smiled for the effort at levity at such a
critical time.
Ladies and gentlemen (if
there were any "gentlemen" in the Wade group), I would like to
introduce ... (name to follow, depending on performance).
Comments:
"Big mistake!"
"He'll be begging for Merlin in a week!"
"You need more meds, Raggio!"
"Christ, he used to sleep with that 3 wood!"
"Bye bye skins on those par 5's, Raj"
"The grass is always, blah blah blah."
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