Golf Fore the Good

The golf season is short here in the northeast. We - those people who are very, very passionate about golf - play where ever, when ever and with whom ever.

I remember when I first met my husband; he was thrilled to meet a woman who was so into golf. Eleven years later, he may struggle to justify his initial enthusiasm. He has tolerated hundreds of loads of unfolded laundry and many evenings of reheated leftovers, and has witnessed dozens and dozens of other unfinished domestic details while I whiled away time on the golf course. Yet, I do declare: that street goes in both directions, my friend!

This season, in particular, I’ve played more often than years past. I suffer subtle pangs of guilt over the amount of time I spend on the course. It keeps me from social events, household chores and - the only real loss, as I see it - takes away from time I could spend blogging… about golf, of course.

Playing as often as possible means I also spend a considerable amount of time scrambling for tee times and playing partners with whom to set up interesting matches. Last week my friends and I stood on the first tee box and, before we had even introduced ourselves to the stranger who was to be our fourth, we hit him up for a bet. Despite the starter’s warnings, he consented to a match. Poor Peter lost all three ways but appeared to accept his losses graciously. In hind sight, we’re darn lucky he didn’t notify the Mass Gaming Commission.

In my golf-crazy town, my actions are not out of the ordinary, as I am not alone in my passion for the game. My husband is sometimes referred to as “Chief Looking for a Game.” He is known to use the concession bar as a satellite office. It’s a great spot to rustle up a match and, with clubs always at hand, he’s ready to head out for a round at the last minute.

I’ve recently begun to rely on a local, retired gentleman as a regular playing partner. He’s as likely as not to be at the course, hanging around the practice facility, so he’s an easy mark to play at least a few late afternoon holes if not a full blown eighteen hole match.

We get along famously and have played some great rounds together. Golf is a wonderful way to make new friends. At least I thought I had made a new friend, until just recently when I found a slip in my husband’s pocket for “services rendered.” Seems my husband had cut a deal with my new golf buddy to keep me occupied and out of his hair.

Desperate times often mean desperate measures. Once, after I’d secured an excellent tee time, my new friend was nowhere to be found. I took the liberty of calling him at home.

His wife doesn’t play golf and I’d never met her. When the missus answered the phone, I was taken a bit off guard. “Hi, I’m a friend of your husband’s from the golf course. Can he come out and play?” I asked timidly, feeling just like I was back in grade school.

My question was met with a very pregnant pause before she hollered to her husband, “ Honey, it’s that golf b—h!” So, what’s a little name calling for the sake of a game? I got the match.