The Outing from Through My Blurred Vision

The rain sounds so cold, as it hits the sunroom roof, and your wife wonders “Are you golfing?” (Apologies to some formerly known dude who was formerly another dude who wore a Raspberry Beret). The USJPL golfing fundraiser was in question as the dark clouds and heavy downpour swamped the tomato plants in the back yard. I turned to my lovely bride and answered stoically, “Well, we are going to the course….Worse case; we end up at Neil’s playing cards.”

I then prophetically grabbed my sunscreen and headed to the garage to place it in my tattered golf bag. As I did, the noise of Darren’s car whirred up the driveway. I ran inside to grab my raincoat, while he grabbed my bag and shoes and tossed them in the trunk. As Sean and Bill would say, "If a sailboat showed up on the course, I was ready" with my foul weather, bright red and yellow, reflecting jacket.

We were off like a prom dress!!

Upon arrival at the course (ten hours and 500 miles later, we should have just gone to Wisconsin). We entered the building to see the lovely Heather and her sidekick Holly, accepting cash and handing out trinkets. Darren and I pawed over a hondo each and gratefully accepted the balls, tees, towels and ….best of all…. Drink tickets. We bought a six pack and headed to the cart and driving range to meet up with the rest of the crew. All the notables were there….Sean, Neil, Jimmy, JP, Russ, Billy, Adam and Joe. After a couple of worm burners, pop corns and shanks, we were all read to go.

Off to the Races

At the first tee, Neil insisted that we wait for the signal, but the ultimate authority on decision making decided to proceed with play. Let the undesirables worry about the rules; we were here to drink…er….play golf. After a ball in the woods, one in the creek and a little pop fly, the anchor took the tee. With a wince of pain as he stretched and contorted his 40 year old body, his long shaft, little head struck the ball and placed it beautifully 210 yards down the middle of the fairway. The game was afoot.

Off like a herd of turtles through peanut butter.

The foursome of Brown/Cass/Sheen/Stockel faired well getting to the green many times with makable birdie putts, but continued to squander the opportunities. Each player of the foursome contributed admirably, with Uncle Jimmy coming alive and winning the MVP for the team. Billy played golf like cards, started well, then go distracted and fell apart. Darren played consistently like Darren, while I struck some very good balls (no comments or your next Al) and then hit some others that were a bit forgettable. One memorable shot was a 185 yard, closest to the pin, 4 iron that was smooth as Kessler. It was a buttery stroke that couldn’t be reproduced in 100 years. The ball stuck 8 feet in front of the hole, where I managed to soon putt in for birdie. That single shot was good for a monetary prize that was soon returned back to the charity.

Off our Rockers

When all was finished, the aforementioned foursome scored 2 under par, while the Parmentier/Haas/Stafford/Woodruff team did better at 4 under, but no where near the 9 under it took to win. However they did manage to win a sponsored “skin” that paid for a round of drinks for the table. Additionally they took $6 each from our foursome in team skins.

It should be noted, that much of the event was a blur after the first 6 beers on 4 holes. I have been told by many people that I was drunk, including Russ’ mother on 17 (poor woman, having Russ as a son). But I can’t really remember if I was drunk or not. All I remember was eating a nice steak dinner and sitting next to Ms. Holly, who was very attractive in her own right. Then I got a ride home from Mr. Darren and struggled to stay awake and watch my kids until 9pm.

Off The Wagon

Overall, a good time was had by all, as far as I remember. Mr. Woodruff’s outing was a well organized, well oiled machine. All participants appreciated the daily updates and constant information about the teams, times, etc. For those who couldn’t be there it is a shame.

Like Flies on a Toilet Seat - Pissed Off

My clubs have once again found there way to long term storage. They smiled at me as I put them in the garage, harkening back to younger days of shooting in the high 80s and throwing balls away instead of losing them. Maybe they will come out again this year in August, maybe they won’t. But it was a nice day with good friends and cold beer.

Off the Cuff