Month: September 2015

A “goat track”. Every golfer knows of at least one. It’s a low class municipal or public track. Uneven tee boxes; no definition between fairways and roughs; greens pocked with poa annua weed; no irrigation; no amenities, etc etc etc. You know one or two.

Wolfwood was a classic goat track but very affordable in the 1980s, maybe $15 for a weekend round – including the cart. It attracted the non- country clubbers, the rednecks and the young guys like me that just wanted to bang balls and have a couple of beers. But this weekend was a special one at Wolfwood – the annual 4 Ball Fall Classic.

You and a chum could declare your own handicaps which lured sandbaggers from all over the county. David and I were legit high 80s players and like fools entered actual handicaps. That would come back to bite us really hard in the collective butts.

All match play, it was a 3 day tournament with a first round, semifinals and a final. We won the first round easily, David playing great. We were smoked 10 holes down with 8 holes to play in the final round by guys that usually play in the mid 70s.  Clear cheaters.

This story focuses on the semifinal round.

The day started bright and sunny but deteriorated as the round progressed. Neither of us played well and found ourselves down 4 holes with 4 holes to play. I thought it was over. Things changed in an instant. We caught fire on numbers 15 and 16 and won both – 2 holes down with 2 holes to play.

Thunderclouds rolled over the course with ever-increasing flashes and rumbling. Number 17 was a long par 5 and David birdied it to make the match 1 hole down with 1 hole to play.

Number 18!  A short, 120 yards par 3.  David and both opponents were right of the green and I was dancing, 50 feet away. The 3 of them all chipped to within 10 feet and marked their balls. It was my putt.

As I squatted to check the break a sense of dread came over me. It was all downhill with at least a ten foot break.  I swallowed hard. My 3 putt and an opponents’ one putt ended the match. Raising up I gathered myself just as the lightening flashed and with a simultaneous thunder clap. The storm was upon us.  I addressed the putt again and put a sweet stroke on the ball. Time stood still. The sphere stayed up on the hill defying gravity. 10 feet away it almost stopped, but it didn’t.  Nearly lifeless the sphere started moving again.  I thought it would never make it to the hole.  The flash and boom repeated. The storm started raging. The ball edged down the hill. Another flash and the rain started. Closer. Steady rain. Closer.  Harder rain. And the ball stopped at the lip! Another flash/boom and the Topflight dropped in. We had won the hole and sent the match to sudden death!

At this point the rain was pelting the course as we moved to Number 1.   This was a really stupid hole: a par 4, only 265 yards but it was a blind green, dropping 40 feet to the hole from the crest. I killed my drive and it disappeared over the hill straight at the green.  The other drives were all short of the hill.

At this point Noah was loading the last of the elephants into the Ark. It was a deluge and the flashes were very frequent. I crested the hill to see that my ball was within 2 feet of the hole. I yelled back to David. The opponents heard my scream and dashed back to the clubhouse. David begged me to leave. But I had to finish.

As I made the eagle putt a lightning bolt terrified me.  I sprinted to the cart and beamed at the comeback! As Churchill reminds us, NEVER surrender.

Watching a bad injury or death is a very startling thing! My friend Joe and I almost witnessed such a thing 2 years ago.

Number 5 at our course needs describing.  It’s a short par 4 that can make any golfer seek a shrink or a  half gallon of vodka.

It’s an innocuous, short par 4, maybe 300 yards. Straight away.  But visuals from the tee would make a blind golfer nervous. 2 fairway bunkers that eat slight hooks or long pushes.  A huge lake to the right that’s a 175 yard carry. But the immediate horror is a sheer grassy drop of 80 feet on the left.

As you leave the tee box the cart path runs on a hog’s back between the lake on the right (10 feet away) and the Grand Canyon to the left (10 feet away). But immediately after the tee box a dirt path veers to the left and goes straight down to the bottom of the imposing left bank.

The rider in the other cart hooked his drive to left and they exited left down that little dirt track to search for the impossibly lost ball. They gave up the hunt quickly.

My cart partner and I were parked at the top of the grassy bank and expected the safe exit by our pals. But nooooooo, they drove straight up the hill toward us!

90% of their cart weight was on the back wheels and the driver panicked, turning sideways to the hill. The rider was facing straight up the hill and leaned out like a balancer on a catamaran. “She’s goin’ over” he screamed.

Panicking for a second time the driver steered back up the hill! Then he turned the other way parallel to the hill so that the rider was now facing downhill – his legs pointing straight out. A rollover would have snapped off both extremities like popsicle sticks.

The driver then turned straight down the hill accelerating to top speed!  At the bottom he turned too quickly and almost flipped it again. I watched my friends almost die 3 times in 1 minute!

Just another relaxing day on the links.

If you’ve played golf a while I’m sure you’ve seen your share of near misses and crazy things involving carts.

I have 2 friends that smoke cigars. Big stogies. Between shots and putts the smokes extinguish and need to be relighted 10 times or more. Unless you bring your own ashtray there’s not really a good place for them to rest. I’ve seen burned seats and melted back fenders. But nothing compared to the conflagration on #6 one day.

The 2 smokers, D and P, were in one cart and K was alone in the other. #6 is a bear of a hole – the number 1 handicap. Mostly due to a pond immediately in front of the green with a severe slope to the water. Both D and P employ those torch lighters that could be used for welding or cutting into a safe. As they pulled beside the green each of them fired up their smokes. Unfortunately one of the lighters kept aflame and the right side of the dash melted and burst into flames.

K was near the carts and started screaming “Fire, fire!” He rushed to the lake to fill his brand new Tilley hat with water to douse the flames but slipped on the bank and performed a dead swan dive into the drink. D and P were frozen! Would they save K or save the burning cart? The hell with K, he can swim. A gutted cart would be a big assessment!

Both ran to the bathrooms beside the green for water but it was shut off for the winter. Then the most logical idea came to them: push the cart into the lake! And they did, forgetting that 2 full sets of clubs were strapped to it.

K floundered to the shore and clawed up the bank, shivering and covered in mud. D and P were assessed anyway and the pro shop sold $3000 worth of clubs later that day!