Wednesdays are my blessed days.
And while you might argue, correctly, that all days are blessed, Wednesdays mark the end of my work week and the beginning of my weekend.
For all you nine-to-fivers out there, I remind you that some of us still work nights and have done so for ages.
With a hearty Friday-Saturday-Monday-Tuesday work week, Wednesdays are my days for golf outings, either solo or with friends, the glorious time spent outdoors needed to recoup and relax, after comfortably sleeping in, another of my favorite pastimes.
Well, a funny thing happened to me this past Wednesday on the links, where I was all by my lonesome, until I wasn’t.
After a sunny, humid start, the expected yet unpredictable Florida afternoon rain came down with a fervor. Within minutes, Tampa’s Hunters Green Country Club went from being occupied, to dreadfully empty. The rain showed no sign of letting up but as they say here in the Sunshine State, if you don’t like the weather, just wait a minute.
I found shelter under one of the course tunnels, a rain bunker if you will. I lit up a cigar and checked my phone to catch up with old friends. There I sat until the heavy stuff subsided.
When the rain finally let up, I continued my round, the grounds much wetter, the course now vacant.
By the time I hit the back nine, around the 14th, 15th and 16th holes, I started to find an inordinate amount of golf balls strewn everywhere. Titleist, Callaway, Top-Flite. While it’s not entirely uncommon to find balls on the course once golfers have taken off for fear of lightning strikes, it’s rare to find as many as I did, on the fairway, just off into the rough, and even on the green. It was a golfer’s Easter Sunday.
I knew no one was playing behind me or on any of the adjacent holes, so I proceeded to pick up these golf balls, thanking Hunters Green for graciously returning all the balls I’d deposited into their woods and lakes over the years.
After a bogey on 17, I made the turn to the final hole, unexpectedly finding no less than fifteen drunken dudes, all teeing off and celebrating some work function or bachelor party, most barely able to stand.
Rowdy and rambunctious, these guys were of all ages, having the time of their lives, lit up from a round of excessive drinking, all taking turns on the 18th tee box.
I mean, they were feeling it. I’ve been fucked up on a golf course before and these guys registered a solid eight out of ten.
Some were right-handed golfers borrowing clubs from their left-handed playmates and vice versa. I even found one of them teeing his golf ball off an empty, crumpled-up Michelob Ultra can. Attempting to finish their round in style, likely not able to see straight, most of them were putting their balls into the lake that adorns the right side of Hunters Green 18th fairway.
“Aaaaaaaayyyy!!!!” they all shouted at me with a welcome. “Join us!”
So, I did. It was only one hole.
“Play up with us!”
Then one challenged, “If you can hit your tee shot off this Mich Ultra can, we’ll buy you whatever you want!”
These days, I’m confident with the driver, so I graciously accepted. Besides, it’s not like any of them would remember.
It took at least a full minute for one of them to tee up my Callaway onto his beer can, the ball falling clumsily onto the grass nearly as much as he did.
Once set, I stepped to the tee box with all of them cheering me on.
Ker-Blaaam!!
I’m not lying when I say my tee shot sailed right down the left side of the fairway to the roar of the crowd. High fives everywhere and a story they’ll be telling, or at least I’ll be telling, for some time to come.
The 18th tee shot in front of a slew of drunken dudes might not have surpassed my round of 78 (or was it 79) with Manny, Glenn and Jeff (I know they’re reading) at the Ritz-Carlton in Sarasota. It might not have surpassed the time I finally beat Brotha E for the first time ever by chipping in on 18 with G Mony watching (Yes, I know they’re reading too). And it might not have surpassed the JJ championship foursome Kyle, Jason, Coach and I just won at River Hills or any round I’ve ever played with a good friend on a Wednesday, but damn if it wasn’t a story worth telling.
