Maybe it comes from being an eighth child; I’ve always tried to keep up with the big kids. Since my very first days on a golf course (after a good solid year of lessons and practice off the course) I’ve hustled my way into foursomes the balance of which consisted of players well beyond my own abilities. Keep up or pick up. It was basically trial by fire but I’ve loved the experience and it has been wonderful for my game. My fortitude pales in comparison to a Twilight League first this week.
New management had decided that the more exposure for the league the better, resulting in a flyer for the Twilight League being posted in a highly visible spot in the ladies’ room. This league is not strictly a men’s league though there has never been more than one or two token women participating off and on throughout its history. There are no requirements to sign up to play, no handicap limits. It has always been a fun group of mostly working stiffs whose schedules preclude them from playing in eighteen hole leagues. From landscapers to lawyers, golfers show up in work clothes, usually last minute, to enjoy nine holes of relaxed yet competitive golf.
It was a beautiful afternoon and players milled about the clubhouse. One of the gentlemen came up to me and asked that I take special care of his friend, as she would be playing with us that evening. I admit I did a double take as he introduced me to an elderly woman and announced that she played with the Ladies’ Niner League. She looked a bit shocked, as well, when we explained that, although the teams consist of A, B, C and D players, the format was two best ball, aggregate score, three balls on the par threes, NO STROKES. “No strokes?” she queried, surely thinking “what kind of a nine hole league is this?”
We quickly explained that she could comfortably note she was the D player and needed to just hang in and that we’d surely make use of her skills on a par three if not elsewhere. It was the steady game we would need from her, in that Niner style for which they are infamous; down the middle, down the middle and, yes, down the middle again… On a side note, I’m quite positive that, were the golfing world filled only with Niners, all golf ball manufacturers would be defunct; they’d play forever on the same sleeve of balls, never hitting it so far as to lose one. So with the spirit of a true competitor, she grabbed a cart and off we went.
Our new friend obviously knows her way around a golf course. She kept the back-up score card and always knew exactly where we all stood. We played ready golf and moved so fast we lost the group behind us. Her shining moment came on the par three seventh hole. With two of us already in deep trouble and looking at fives, and only our captain able to save par, our lady was laying two in the trap in front of the green. For some of us, with less than decade upon decade of experience, this might have touched off a case of the jitters. Not she; this was nothing but another average, unreachable par three that a 38.8 handicapper faces every round. Undaunted, she strode into the bunker and quickly stroked the ball into a long, low, slow roll directly toward the blue flag at the back of the green. We whooped as it snuggled up just below the pin. She confidently sunk the three footer, as if there was ever a doubt. Saving a four, it was absolutely the perfect time for her contribution and secured our lock on first place.
I don’t know who had more fun that night. Was it the three of us regulars watching our newest Twilight Leaguer join in? Or was it she, bantering with us on the course and after and tossing her winnings on the bar? By the way, she said, as she took her leave promising to return another afternoon, she was inspired by our long hitting captain and now she is roping it off the tee.
