Satan was a model child in Heaven. He polished the golden gates weekly but secretly chipped a bit of gold when God wasn’t looking. He spit shinned Moses’ and Saint Peter’s silver slippers daily but left a bit of spit inside just for kicks. Monthly he held God’s mighty staff as the Lord held the gates for the holy entrants, but Satan let it dip now and then.
He forgot a key tenant of Heaven: God knows everything!
In an unprecedented “Reverse Heaven” edict, God declared Satan unfit for the golden temple and cast him back down to earth – into Adam and Eve’s paradise of Eden. He was pretty pissed off.
As Satan sat beneath the now famous apple tree, the serpent slithered to him and hissed “Whassup Dev?”
Satan told his story of dismissal and the serpent replied: “I got an idea – sell Eve on one these apples and we’ll screw it all up for ’em!”
The Devil lit another Marlboro, adjusted a crooked horn and downed his 4th martini. He thought about the serpent’s scheme. “What could be an even more sinister and frustrating curse on humanity?” he mumbled quietly. “The Plague, a 40 day flood, Hitler?
Then he remembered when he and Saint Paul would sneak to the far meadows of Heaven and smack around stones with their wooden canes. Occasionally the stone flew long and straight but much more often Paulie took a peek and topped it – Satan had a dead hook.
Back on earth: “Wait, wait, wait” Satan screamed. “Forget the apples!. I have a much worse curse in mind!”. Satan explained the cane and stone game, the serpent loved it and chucked the apple theory.
That afternoon Adam and Eve approached the apple tree and found Satan and his partner in crime just finishing a 12 pack. “Let me taste the apple” begged Eve. The serpent: “Eve, forgot to tell you that the apples are rotten and wormy. Hey Adam betcha can’t hit that peach tree with this cane and stone.”
Now see, Adam was a little arrogant. He’s got this trophy wife Eve, he’s running around naked (Eve digs it) and he has unlimited freedom. And he loved a dare. “Gimme that cane, stand back and be quiet” he demands of the serpent.
Adam took dead aim, hurried his backswing and misses the stone by a foot. Satan: “Try it again, you looked up”.
Adam weakend his grip and missed again…and again…and again. “This is too hard. Where are the apples!”
“Oh no, it’s a magical game, you’ll get the hang of it” encourages Satan. “One more swing. Trust me.”
Now Satan is Satan, and he still has his heavenly powers.
Adam approached the stone, waits, steps back to find a blade of grass two feet in front of the stone for his line and takes a smoothe, steady backswing. At that moment Satan spreads his hand and places his spell on the stone. Adam hit the cane’s sweet spot and finished with a high arcing follow through. The stone flew to the right and drew directly into the peach tree’s trunk, shaking the tree and dropping hundreds of the fruit.
“Beauty” screamed the serpent. Eve clapped softly. “Of course I hit it – good cane selection” bragged Adam. Over and over and over he hit the peach tree, even with less cane and a crosswind. “I like this, it’s easy.”
Satan took them to the Elysian Fields and designed a four-hole course. Adam played daily and Eve followed him, eventually whittling her own set of canes from the blonde persimmon tree. They played every day and always played below par.
Satan and the serpent caddied for them with gleams in their eyes. Adam slowly developed a slice and Eve gradually lost her short game. They worked hard on their games, often hitting stones until the dim of dusk. They read Satan’s little red book. They became golf addicts!
Eve gave birth to four kids and they all learned how to play “cane stone”. Their oldest child Rolf called the game “rolfie” which was shortened to “rolf” and it morphed to “golf”.
Rolf begat Cane, who begat Able, who begat Moses and the game spread like Pharaoh’s soldiers in the Red Sea! Saint Andrew designed and built a 15 hole course in Scotland, Old Tom redesigned the golf club, a guy named Jack rewrote the game and golf exploded. So did the cursing, the time away from the families, the wasted money on all things golf related, the divorces and occasional suicides.
Fairway Follies, Joe Hinson 