This article brought to you by Kaila Brooks, Realtor
Welcome to Friday… oh, helllllls yes. Roads are the same as they were yesterday, and the day before. In spite of whatever weather has suggested could possibly happen. As long as you are conscious enough to steer, then go for it… no big whoop. See how I’m rambling here? It’s just ’cause I’m trying to put SOME words down, in order to justify my existence.
A golfer playing in a U.S. Amateur event in Palm Beach the other day was disqualified. The reason: Officials determined that his playing was so poor and his score so terribly high, that not only was the online scoring system unable to process it, but that it was also impossible for even the worst of golfers, ever, anywhere, to score that poorly.
Apparently, the guy had started out doing alright… but then, after a couple of holes that didn’t go so well, he melted down, and began intentionally aiming for a record HIGH score. He was apparently, just chipping and “scooting” the ball around the holes, not even trying to sink it… and counting every stroke. “Every stroke” totaled 202… on the par 71 course.
There’s no word on whether or not he will be credited for his historic high score… it isn’t likely, given that he was disqualified. It is clear, however, that golf officials take their game seriously: he was disqualified under Rule 1.2, an actual rule that disqualifies a player for, “…failing to play in the spirit of the game.” On the other hand, I don’t disagree. Any clown on the links ahead of me, who is taking WAY too long… well, he needs to be booted.
Golf IS a funny game though… especially once you recognize that the goal of golf is to play as little golf as possible.
As long as we’re on the topic, I’ve got a random golf story for you. Many years ago, some friends and I decided to golf. We were all around 20 years old, and none had ever held a club before. But, it was high time that we became golfers, so off to the country club we went.
We rented a couple of golf carts… the ones you DRIVE. While these vehicles CAN be used to haul clubs in a pinch, the main reason for their existence is to haul vast amounts of beer. Obviously.
Around hole 10 or 12, Jason decided that it would be hilarious to goof off a little. It is possible that there was some correlation between his poor decision-making and the once-vast quantity of beer, now being significantly less vast. It should be noted that to start with, Jason was never a very good driver… or a good putterrer, for that matter.
It should also be noted to any who have never piloted a golf cart, that the brakes on a golf cart are designed to only gently slow the vehicle… nothing more. No course owner wants guys skidding around on the grass, messing it up. To be entirely transparent about the brake performance, these carts even had warnings posted, alerting drivers to the fact that braking was no more than a gentle deceleration.
However, 20-year-old males who have consumed a lot of beer are notorious for disregarding warning signs. They also have little common sense. I can say that, because I was one myself, and can testify that this statement is factual.
So, with Rod as a passenger, Jason figured it would be hi-lar-i-OUS to drive straight for the water hazard at top speed. Granted, top speed wasn’t going to rip anybody’s face off, but it was way faster than low speed. His brilliant plan was to slam on the brakes once he got about ten inches from the river’s edge. There, everybody would have a good laugh at how comical Rod’s anticipated reaction would be. It was a pretty good plan, except for the part about… well, all of it.
At his pre-planned braking point, Jason hit the brakes. Now, if there had NOT been a river directly in front of him, he would have casually rolled to a stop in about 50 feet or so. But, since there WAS a river in front of him, his stopping distance was greatly reduced. After 15 feet of going airborne, the submersion of both cart and passengers into the water, provided excellent and complete braking.
Nobody ever hollered, “Fore!” However, I do remember hearing some single-syllable word that started with “F.” And, while this doesn’t seem believable, in my mind’s eye, I totally remember watching the thing go down in slow motion. The cart launched upward due to a lip on the bank, and the whole airborne mess began to disintegrate mid-air, with balls and people and stuff all sort of exploding—in slow-motion—out of and away from the cart, which was doing a donkey dive into the drink. The splash was epic… as in, I’m pretty sure that golfers way over on the 16th hole even got wet.
The golf cart had a roof on it, making it about six feet tall. The river, as it turned out, was 6 feet and six inches deep. The roof of the rig made a whitish glow under the surface, as beer bottles and hats and pencils and scorecards bobbed in the water nearby. No golf balls, though… they sink. Everybody knows that. Jason and Rod emerged from the river, wet but uninjured. It DID seem likely, for a while, that Jason was LIKELY to sustain injuries from Rod at some point in the future, but as far as I know, those injuries never occurred. One thing that WAS clarified later: while the golf carts are designed to prevent skidding, Rod DID end up with some sort of skid mark issue related to his ride in that cart.
In the end, we were all in the water… it took the whole group of us to raise that titanic object. We somehow managed it, though… getting the fully-no-longer-functional swamp thing back onto the green, where it sat as testament to a Jason’s flawed plan.
We did not get our equipment deposit back. I guess that was the penalty stroke? It wasn’t even worth trying for a mulligan. It was dimple to see that we’d sliced off more than we could putt behind us. These ace holes were a little too green for REAL golf, and our leaving was a fair way to put an end to the hazard we produced.
But that wasn’t the end of the fallout. At work on Monday, I asked an older co-worker how his weekend had been. He started laughing, then said he had a GREAT story to tell… see, he was golfing yesterday, when he saw this group of jackasses… young fellas, out there on the course… and you’d never believe what they did…