Geezer…Spare That Tree
Now, I haven’t been playing golf all that long, so I can’t be sure that my limited exposure to the game has provided me with an all-encompassing picture of the game and its players. However, I have come to some conclusions about players and their eccentricities.
There are a host of opinions about what a golfer needs to load in his bag when he is out on the course. Of course, there is the prohibition of carrying more than fourteen clubs to play an official round. What may count as a club is debatable unless you are from the USGA or PGA, but for Geezers even a short shovel can be used in extremis.
Looking at my playing partner’s bags the most common accoutrements are umbrellas, alignment sticks and, of course the extendable ball retriever. This last item is frequently put to use either to pull a mis-hit ball from a water hazard or, as is most often the case to help in finding OGB’s[1] in the out of bounds areas along the fairway.
I have been told that a few of my partners, generally those with obvious hillbilly antecedents, keep a pistol in their bag. This just in the off chance that a rattler or copperhead might wriggle out onto the fairway and must be quickly dispatched. Player intimidation might be another use for a Smith & Wesson while putting.
There are also the assortments of lucky tees that many golfers carry. There are wooden tees with bare finishes, painted tees with band at quarter-inch intervals to assist in getting the height correct for your driver. There are those indestructible plastic tees and champagne glass-style tees that cup the ball so that it does not tip out before contact is made.
For those who are purists the bag contains name-brand golf balls some with the golfer’s name emblazoned on them. Some use balls with appliques that indicate ownership or simply put dots on the balls. Then, of course the players who rely solely on finding and playing OGBs there is the need to remember what they are hitting at a particular point in play.
Then there are range finders, iPhone golf apps with GPS and distance. Talking trackers that tell the player the yardage can be heard squawking from the bag, as well as the cell phones themselves that offer up a plaintive wail when incoming calls interrupt play.
In the bag one might find various foul weather garments. Rain slickers, extra socks, rain pants, first aid items and of course all manner of snacks.
I have observed all of these various additions to my playing partner’s ensembles and yet, last week I was present when one of my partners pulled something so unexpected from his bag that I didn’t know whether to be angry or just laugh it off.
It happened thusly. The course at Magnolia Glenne is a modified links course. That is no two fairways parallel one another. Since the course was built through a residential development one goes from green to tee box along winding cart paths. The distance between some of the holes is nearly as long as the fairways they service. This is particularly true of the route from the ninth hole to the tenth tee.
Leaving the ninth green the path skirts downhill and crosses one of the several meandering creeks that interweave through the property. At the bottom, the path crosses the creek atop a long wooden bridge. On the other side there is a patch of woods that screens the golfers from the residences on the hill above. This allows those golfers, especially those Geezers with weak prostates to unburden their bladders amongst a stand of saplings. Once clear of these woods, the cart path makes a right hand turn down to the senior tee at the tenth hole.
On the date in question, I was part of a threesome including Roscoe Turner and Frank Weade that had just finished on nine. Being the solo player, I drove my cart ahead to the tee to wait for my partners. The day was getting warm after a very cold start, so I removed a few layers of clothing as I waited for the others.
One of the recent additions that Magnolia Glenne made to the course equipment was the installation of GPS on each cart. This provides yardage on each hole and is reasonably accurate. One downside of the system (there are several) is that the device chirps up to tell you that you are so many minutes behind where you should be on each hole. Normally, these warnings can be ignored if you are playing behind groups that are plodding ahead on the hole in front of you. In this case, there was no one in sight ahead of me. Neither were my partners who should be right behind me.
Now, aware that of the two men with whom I was playing that day, Roscoe suffered some degree of bladder control and Frank often ended play early due to bowel issues, I began to wonder if perhaps they were making extended use of the copse of trees along the path. With time ticking, I waited.
As the clock ticked the GPS called out the time like a NASA launch manager. But instead of counting down, the damned thing kept adding time. After five minutes I gave up and decided to tee up and hit.
My drive was good and landed mid-left on the fairway. I went back to my cart and took a long drink of water. The GPS was up to ten minutes. Where were these guys?
Now with senior players there are any number of reasons that one might suddenly disappear from the course. Did one of them get sick? Was there a gastro-intestinal emergency or embarrassment? Did one of them keel over dead?
Now you might ask why I did not drive back to see where they were. Well, since my drive was in a good position, I thought well, why not just take my second shot? With the GPS chirping another delay of game I drove up and with a seven-iron put the ball to within a hundred and twenty yards of the pin. Turning back toward the tee, I saw movement coming from the woods. At last! But?
What in God’s name was Roscoe, cart driver holding in his hand. No, really? It can’t be. But it was. Roscoe gripped a shiny pruning saw in his hand while behind him, sticking up from his bag were several thin, long freshly cut saplings.
My brain was assaulted with questions.
- Who carries a pruning saw in his golf bag?
- Why would anyone do so?
- What were the saplings doing in his golf bag?
- What about the round of golf?
- Was it over?
- Had he planned this?
My mouth hung agape as I watched Roscoe and Frank nonchalantly approach the tee and take their shots. Both of their balls hugged the right edge of the fairway. I saw Roscoe walk to where his ball had landed in the fringe and look admiringly at the foliage beyond. He whacked at his ball and then plunged, saw in hand toward some skinny trees in the out of bounds area. Disgusted, I proceeded to hit my third onto the green and putt out.
When they finally caught up to me before the eleventh hole I politely inquired of Roscoe as to what the hell they had been up to. Roscoe, our group’s illustrious leader reminded me that he liked to make walking sticks for friends and had decided that today was a great day to replenish his stock of shafts. Nothing unusual in that I suppose, just another round of Geezer Golf.
[1] OGB – Other Guy’s Balls
