My Golf Day: 119 Shots...3 Dead, 2 Wounded.

Golf , n. - "a game in which a player using special clubs attempts to sink a ball with as few strokes as possible into each of the 9 or 18 successive holes on a course.” 
-  Merriam-Webster Dictionary

It’s as simple as that, folks.

Just use your special clubs to sink the ball into some holes. 

What a relaxing game this “Golf” must be.

I haven’t golfed in over ten years.  Well, that’s not completely true.  The last decade has seen me conquer many a golf course using my special club to skilfully navigate balls up ramps, through windmills and around revolving Smurfs.  I even aced a hole, which probably caused lesser men to weep, by driving a ball deep into the mouth of a whale, out its spout, down its tail and over the trailing dolphin.  It was magical…if not heroic.

However, although these experiences fit the definition of golf to a tee (pause to laugh at this very intended pun), most “Golfers” don’t consider courses like Wally’s Whimsical Putt-Putt Forest actual golf.

Whatever.

Anyways, I recently went to Trillium Wood Golf Course - a large, beautiful golf course with a surprisingly high level of difficulty...despite not having a single swinging monkey to dodge or any 6-foot lollipops to weave your ball through.

Just a few hours before tee off, I unearthed my “big boy” golf bag from the basement.  Needless to say, after a decade of inactivity, my clubs looked…out of shape.

Here are some very revealing details about my bag and the ancient relics it contained:

There are eight “special” clubs, which includes two putters and two 3-woods…so, technically, there are only six.  Not exactly a full deck. 

-         The woods are actually made out of wood.  An outdated fire hazard for sure.   

-         My “set” consists of 4 different club manufacturers.  I'm waiting for an official sponsor.  

-         I have a six-iron which I thought was a nine-iron.  They shouldn’t make six-irons…it’s confusing.

-        There is a fat putter and a skinny putter…which, quite possibly, was stolen from Wally’s Whimsical Putt-Putt Forest.

-        The ever-present rust on the telescoping ball-retriever shows it took a dip or two in the past.

-        The dust bunnies were as big as golf balls…and numbered more than my last recorded golf score (129 – June 3, 1997).

When the time came to unzip the side pocket of this golf-bag shaped time capsule, I thought about recording an hour long video special leading up to the grand discovery…but then I remembered Geraldo Rivera and Al Capone’s vault.  Hence, no video.  I just opened it.

The verdict:  I should have filmed it.  I was clearly more successful than Rivera.


One dollar and seven cents, my friends!

And…

…a glove forever molded into a withered arthritic hand, a toxic hand cloth, tips about how to golf (which I appreciate, but don’t need) and a handful of those useless stubby pencils that even kindergarten teachers would throw out for being too short. 

However, my favourite find was the head of a 3-iron…which was (surprise, surprise) manufactured by a completely different company than all my other clubs. 

Where the shaft is will remain a mystery, but most likely it was broken off after connecting with a tree…either on the follow-through of an epic shot made out of the bush or after being whipped down the fairway in a fit of immature rage because I was losing.  I lean towards the first scenario…but we’ll never know.      

Okay…so how did the day go?

I'd describe my shots, in honour of the Scottish, as being a little off "kilt"er.  I left three dead and two seriously wounded but, using only my 7, 9 (or 6) and the fat putter, scored a 119.  I was ecstatic!  Sure, the death toll and final tally were both way over par...but they were also lower than my previous golf experiences.  

According to my memory I used to average 125 which was confirmed by the old score cards I found...proving my memory to be sharper than my golf game.

The lesson:  Don’t play golf…and you’ll get better!

You see, I knocked 6 shots off my typical round after roughly 10 years of golf exile. Therefore, if I don’t play golf for another 80 years...I’ll be awesome! 

I’ve booked my next tee time for my 120^th Birthday.  I’ll shoot 69…and retire from golf.

Have a good one,

Timmy