The Health and Safety Code offers an option to cops and docs,
when they come across a mentally challenged individual or if they even suspect
it, to “5150” them, which means to place them on a 24-hour hold for a psych
evaluation. There are three different evaluations, and the person must meet at
least one of the conditions:
1. Pose a danger to one’s self
2. Pose a danger to others
3. Be gravely disabled
When after nine holes Riva’s score was 51 and
mine 50, we both had a good laugh at the connotation.
I realized after a moment, it wasn’t
funny: my game is a danger to me, and to others, and
it is past gravely disabled! Riva notices the frown and
shrugs; we’re playing for a beer and the game is very close. Of course, he’s
playing for a real beer and I’m playing for the faux beer: O’Doul’s.
We’re standing on the corner in Winslow Arizona … Okay,
stop there, Raggio—refocus. We’re standing on the 15th tee
when we see the gal chasing a ground squirrel. I whistle; she stops in her
tracks and comes trotting over. She's less antsy than the last time we saw her.
All I have is half of a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich. I take my last small
bite as she rolls her eyes. I toss a piece and she gratefully downs it, another
and she’s scraping her front paws in anticipation. I toss the last piece and
wave her off; she’s “trained” enough to know when it’s time to let me return to
my misery. Halfway down the fairway, I look back and from all angles coyotes
are closing in on her: her no-longer-pup pups … They knock her over and she
jumps up to attack. They become submissive, only to “attack” again. She’s
rolling over, they’re jumping and rolling over—for no reason at all, or maybe
for all the reasons there are …
(Riva bought the “beer” but only by a stroke. We never waited; the
joint was empty and about 68 degrees. It was, as Riva put it, “A perfect day to
spoil it.”)
