By Bradford Bixby For The Mountain Times
Welcome back, dear reader, to another in a gutsy string of hard hitting columns that shed light on the dark side of golf. My agent and my editor, however, believe that a softer, funnier Dave Barry- like approach would be a better path to my Pulitzer Prize. I can’t decide myself but it would be a lot easier if the Pulitzer people responded to just one of my numerous submissions. I mean a reply other than the cease and desist order that was obviously a forgery!
In local news I forgot to include a member of our grounds crew last month. Kathy Kaiser has been clearing and planting the flower beds all around the clubhouse and the practice green. We will see the results soon, as there are shoots coming up everywhere. Nice work 2K. We have Social Golf for the golfing public every Tuesday and Friday evening. Throw ten dollars in the pot, draw teams, and play a scramble. It’s fun for everyone, just show up at 5 p.m. and you are in.
I’m getting to the age where friends are passing away. It’s inevitable. I recently lost a golf friend – John White. Being a golf friend is a unique category of friendship that many of us enjoy. I played golf with John every week for the better part of twenty years, yet we never socialized off the course. I met John when a guy I worked with named Jack invited me to play in their weekly game. Jack turned out to be an obnoxious, underhanded liar and a cheat. He talked in your backswing and made comments to throw you off your game.
I had just chewed him out for trying to distract me while putting – and not for the first time – when John and I both saw him drop a ball while pretending to look. That was the last time he played with us and I now had a new golf friend in John.
John was a funny guy and he didn’t even know it, mostly because of his use and abuse of the English language. He added letters to words all the time, mostly s’. Our course was The Resorts on the Mountstain. We also played at Stones Creek and Wildswoods. But his real gift was mangling golf terms. For instance, he once hit a really thin ball and said to me “ I really scolded that one.” I said “you mean skulled it.” “That’s what I said,” he replied. After that I quit correcting him and just enjoyed the show.
He hit a shank and he said he skanked it. The next time he flanked it and eventually flanged it. I often say these terms to this day and people don’t understand why I chuckle when I do. One time, I’m about to hit and he said “aim for those groundskeepers over there.” “Why?” I asked. “Because if you hit one I can go in and sell them some safety equipment. Particularly hard hats.” In the end, he filled a valuable niche in my life and I will miss him.
Well, dear reader, that’s all I have space for. Get out and golf while the weather is beautiful and remember to “Hit Em Straight.”