In my excitement to be in a team money tournament, my first, I muff my first drive. No gimmies today, no tantrum. I have to play the ball where it lies, a few feet off the elevated tee. There is barely room for me to use my five iron. The hair on my arms must be standing up like reeds in a cess pool. I’m nervous as hell. No audience follows us unless you count the two marshals, four caddies and my wife.
How I hit that shot like a real pro, I will always wonder, but it flew on magic pips to fifteen yards off the green. I was there in two, my team mates behind me in one. The three of them make the green with no effort but poor direction. My shot hits the green and rolls into the cup. Yippee! I parred it! Two more pars and a four do not bode well. Resounding applause comes from only one person, my Julie. Jim’s caddy quietly speaks to her, asks her not to do that again. I feel she is hurt, insulted, even angry and one does not anger Julie.
Predicted clouds begin to gather. There is a distant rumble of thunder and a quick flash of lightning. The club siren sounds forcing the players off the course immediately. The caddies carrying heavy bags full of irons, perfect lightning targets, walk the fastest to the club house. The team, minus me, the marshals stay clear of single trees. I see the marshal’s nasty look that I am hurrying, with Julie, to the clubhouse. Once safely and still dry inside, Julie has no problem and sits with other wives who evidently are not golf enthusiasts and prefer gab, gossip.
The lightning streaks for hours, slashes the sky from all directions. Strong winds bend trees. Bunkers have to be mud, the fairway unplayable. An announcement comes to the Grill and dressing rooms that play is canceled. The tournament resumes the following day. Tee times are being posted in the men’s locker room. Nobody wants to get their own cars but have to or spend the night on a locker room bench. Valet parkers have been sent away while the waiters and waitresses remain. Drinks begin to flow. Opponents tell jokes, play gin. Ladies just talk about things women talk about, clothes, maids, affairs, (parties, too). The kitchen is busy. Sandwiches, salads , burgers, dogs, fill us. Just the way the storm started, it ends. By 6:30 the sun is shining, a rainbow over the lake at the par five 18th hole brings down the curtain.
Getting our cars aggravates us all. We don’t know where the valet left them. It takes half an hour until I spot ours, that looks like dozens of others. If I didn’t have a small fuzzy brown bear on the edge of the dash, we might never have reached home.
Team # 7, that’s my team, plays well. We have hope of coming in for some of the money invested. Even I make two birdies. Major tie ups on a few holes, break the tempo, the wanted smooth play. Lost balls, a turned ankle, one caddie throws up and has to leave. Sadly, that team gets disqualified. There aren’t enough roaming carts to be sure we all have plenty of water, a paper cup of lemonade.
Twilight surrounds us as we sign our cards, hand them to the officials and wait, and wait for the final results to be posted. Julia waits with me. Spotlights brighten the board but not me. Team # 7, my team, comes in 10th. That really stinks. Julie embarrasses me with a big wet kiss and tight hug. I rub her kiss into my skin and hug her back. She suggests I sign up for the fall tourney.
‘Don’t push me, Julie. I’m not ready for that, won’t ever be.’ Let’s go out to dinner....and dessert.’
No comments:
Post a Comment