Rico was a hot tempered Italian tile and marble genius. His laughter and cursing could split the air like a thunderbolt. He loved golf almost as much as his veal, pasta and chianti. From Siena he was the son of a master in the same trade. Rico migrated to the U.S. in his late 20s and settled in my hometown. Even with many field employees he still managed the delicate marble jobs. His forearms were huge tree limbs which he applied well on the links. But there was that temper.
One day Rico was paired with Bobby, a talented golfer with a 7 handicap. Bobby owned a small string of convenience stores and knew how to squeeze blood from a stone. He was always seeking a bargain.
Number 7 at Salisbury Country Club has a narrow fairway lined with silver maples on the left planted in the 1920s by Donald Ross. Regal, these thick tree trunks shined like the gleaming ore from the Comstock Lode. But they were planted close together and presented a thick barrier to an approach shot to the green.
Rico was hot tempered but was having a cold round. That day every drive duck hooked dead left. After 6 holes the usual mid 80s player was 10 over par. True to form his drive on 7 was a smothered hook toward those maples and was stymied by the silver arbor. Before his second shot he announced “Ifa I hitta the tree I breaka every cluba in my baga!”. Certainly he wouldn’t the other 3 thought.
His arms swelled as he took a mighty swing with a 3 iron. He hit the tree trunk dead center and flew into a rage. Immediately Rico ran to the tree and broke the shaft against the tree. “Whoa Rico” yelled Bobby as Rico wheeled around to unstrap his bag from the cart.
“Likea I tolda you Bobby Ima gonna breaka every cluba in this baga!”.
“Rico, you bought those clubs last week” exclaimed Bobby.
“I don’ta carea” as he methodically started breaking clubs starting with the driver.
“Rico I’ll give $300 for the set”. (this is 1972)
Snap went 2 more!
“OK, $250”.
Rico was through the woods now working on the irons. Snap! Snap! Snap!
“Ok, $150, there are only 5 clubs left!”
5 snaps!
Then Rico threw his putter at Bobby and said “Takea thisa homea” and stormed off to the clubhouse dragging his bag which finally threw into the creek on #1.
Temper can be dangerous thing combined with the ancient game!
Fairway Follies, Joe Hinson 