Golf Fore the Good

Over the last week and a half, I played a fair amount of golf. Regular readers of this blog might have guessed that, as my posts have been scattered and few.

I hit the links for a minimum of nine holes, eight of the last ten days, despite having (or perhaps because of?) summer house guests for the same period of time. Thankfully, my non-golfing guests looked kindly upon my obsession and I played nearly guilt free. Summer is short in my neck of the woods and you’ve got to golf while the golfing is good, company aside. They’ll still be there when you get home from the links – or not.

My rounds included an assortment of playing companions – some familiar, some transients - with a variety of bets and matches – in rounds that stretched from well over five hours to just under four. There was nothing out of the ordinary until, somehow, I ran into some downright nasty displays of a glaring lack of golf etiquette.

It was most unusual to witness, on each of my final three days of play, behavior unbecoming a golfer. Perhaps it was the excessively hot and humid weather that made tempers flare, with a flash point ignited by the mix of locals and day trippers clogging our course. Whatever the reason, it was ill suited to a relaxing round of golf and quite out of the ordinary for our little municipal golf course, to say the least.

The first incident plagued me for nearly the entire backside of what might have been an otherwise pleasant round. The day was proving to be a long one, never good for the nerves.

Hitting in to a group in front once is an accident. Hitting into a group a half dozen times in one round is ridiculous, bordering on stupid, never mind dangerous.

Let me also point out that, in the midst of a five hour round, our foursome had already nearly caught a foursome that started three tee times ahead, after two other groups had dropped out at the turn.

Maybe the offending foursome didn’t realize the gap in front of us on ten was a result of niners making their exit. Maybe they were just rude. We’d been jammed and waiting on every shot on the front nine. It was only the eleventh hole when they fired into our midst. It was the first of five balls - or six; I lost count - that either plopped beside us, or so close behind, we had the willies every time we addressed a ball.

By the 13th, we had caught the group ahead. That didn’t stop the foursome behind from whacking into us, again and again.

By the sixteenth, when they fired once again from the tee box as I set up to hit my second shot, I went apoplectic. It’s not like they had a blind shot; but I was now blind with rage. Unfortunately my Italian temper got the best of me, and though I did not actually retaliate, I was seething with anger and my game had suffered for it.

After the round, discussing the hazing we’d suffered with friends at the bar, they suggested I should have called into the clubhouse for a ranger’s assistance. In my irate state, it hadn’t occurred to me; shame on me. It was a good plan for the future, though, should I ever play in front of another slap happy foursome. I’ve never experienced such lunacy in fourteen years on a golf course, and hope I never do again.

Meanwhile, across town at our other municipal course, my friends and regular playing companions were suffering a similar incident from the opposite perspective.

The course they were on has several blind shots on various holes. Members know to wait a reasonable amount of time before hitting their tee shots. When the course is crowded we leave a cart or bag at a spot visible from the tee behind while we hit our second shots. On the short par fours, we wait to tee off until the group in front in on the green. It is a system that works – but apparently not that day.

On the eighteenth tee, my friend roped a nice shot down the fairway, headed down hill and blind a good way out. It’s not like she hasn’t played this hole hundreds of times. She is an avid golfer who uses reasonable care on the golf course and shows respect to all fellow golfers.

Walking to their tee shots, a golf ball comes flying over and up the hill, backwards, whizzing by her head. “What the hey?”

Her tee shot must have come too close for comfort. If the other party was out of sight of the tee box, the ball could surely have done no more than roll to them, and had not been airborne. That didn’t stop the yahoos in front from whacking it back, with no thought to who they might hit square between the eyes. Luckily, no injury was inflicted. None; unless you count the verbal abuse that transpired in the parking lot.

Hearing her recount the story, I was happy I hadn’t given in to my own urge to hit an offending ball back to the wrecking crew that had followed me the day before. My friend made a mistake; she didn’t intentionally hit into the group in front. It was a one-time occurrence and the response was uncalled for and hazardous as well. Even with the repeated offenses the day before, I had learned this lesson in kindergarten; one bad turn does not deserve another.

I do not want this to come off as a case of “us vs. them.” It isn’t ever right to hit into someone on the golf course; but accidents do happen. Don’t hit if you think there is even a remote chance of hitting into, or rolling up to, the group in front. It’s common courtesy and basic golf etiquette.

A singular incident should be recognized as such and apologized for and let go. Remember, golf is supposed to be a civilized game. If the perpetrators persist in hitting into another group over and over, flag down a ranger or call the pro shop. Remain civilized.

The next day, with my blood pressure back under control, my aforementioned friend and I were paired up with a couple of transients, a father-son duo. Though this did not constitute a dream foursome, they seemed pleasant enough. One would have pegged them right off as occasional golfers. They were in the area on vacation and had played several courses here and there over the years. Lucky us, today they’d picked our course.

Again, the time of year being what it is in our resort area, the round was playing out slowly. We were watching the foursome ahead walk off the fourth green, my friend and I positioned a bit forward at our own tees, when we heard a shot fire off the white tees. For me, it was like watching a horror film of my yesterday’s round play out in slow motion as my friend yelled “fore!” “Why did you hit? Can’t you see them?” she admonished the guilty one. He shrugged. No “fore.” No apology offered to the foursome ahead. No golf etiquette.

On our part, we quickly made it clear to the foursome in front that the shot had not been of our making and that we’d rein in our companions.

Having succeeded in stopping the other half of our foursome from duplicating one faux pas, they managed to exhibit many other kinds of irksome behavior.

They didn’t much care for marking their balls. That might have been because they often hit out of turn, on the green or off. Their cart seemed to be in perpetual motion or, if momentarily stopped, it was sure to rev in the midst of one’s back swing. The cart, when parked, was either left in front of a green or pulled up along a greenside bunker blocking the cart path, effectively impeding our own route around the green to a more reasonable access point.

While these folks were amicable company, basic golf etiquette was sorely lacking. At least they were pleasant and there were no balls flying by my head. It was still a long round.

The following day I had a match arranged with friends. Weekdays are easier to play a quick round; more members, less transients. The devil you know as opposed to the devil you don’t, as the saying goes.

Trouble didn’t hit until we were approaching our tee shots mid way down the sixth fairway. Actually, for my companion in question, his ball lay one fairway over in the 8th. He cautiously eased his cart barely into the right rough of the eighth hole and waited for the foursome playing up to hit their shots.

“Squawk…. squaaaaack….!” A savage screech rang out. “I can’t hit my ball with you there! You’re in my fairway!” A very irate lady – I use the term loosely – screamed at the gentleman as he patiently waited from the opposite side of the fairway, nearly hidden in the trees.

We were stunned. He had not gotten out of the cart to stand by his ball in the fairway; the cart wasn’t moving; she had a sixty-something yard shot to the green and my friend was nowhere in her line of sight unless she had the peripheral vision of a squirrel… a very large, round, vicious squirrel, I would say.

We were at a stand-off. The “lady” refused to hit but didn’t want our friend to hit either. As she said, he was “in her fairway.” Funny, I didn’t know our little muni was selling shares.

It’s always a bit annoying when a player hits into the wrong fairway – particularly for the poor golfer who hit the bad shot. Surely, the players coming up have the right of way, but isn’t it a matter of the moment to assess the particular situation and either play through or allow the errant player to hit and scurry back to his own fairway? Need one add insult to injury? A casual “what are you doing here?” is enough salt in the wound.

So there we stood, effectively bringing two holes of a very busy golf course to a standstill because of one cranky golfer. Lady, if you can’t swing with anybody watching, then buy a net and play in your basement. Even her cart companion was annoyed with her behavior. “Just hit the ball and get in the cart,” we heard him plead.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the last time that day my playing companion had to forage into another fairway to find his ball. It just wasn’t his day. Thankfully, he alternated enough slices and hooks that we never had occasion to pass too closely to the screechy one again that round.

It was an adventurous three rounds. I’m not quite sure when the last time was that I felt like I needed a flax jacket and helmet to play golf.

It was almost a relief to go to work today. You caught the “almost,” didn’t you?