- 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
actual golf. Whimsical Putt-Putt Forest
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 An outdated fire hazard for sure.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!
One dollar and seven cents, my friends!
…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 120th Birthday. I’ll shoot 69…and retire from golf.
Have a good one,