Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Bad Golf Partners are the WORST.

There is absolutely nothing worse than getting stuck with a bad partner on the course. I went to play my second round of the weekend at P.B. Dye in Ijamville, MD on Sunday, just my dad and I, and we got paired with a couple of dudes that ruined the round.

The first guy, Bill, was a chain smokin’, hard drinkin’, foul mouthed hillbilly, who happened to be about a 5 handicap. Trust me it sucks to get beat by a guy like that.

The other guy, Chris, just sucked. He swung and missed a handful of times and topped or shanked the ball more often than he hit it squarely. His swing was absolutely horrendous and it will take me another five rounds before I can shake off his disaster.

These guys really got to me. I played uncharacteristically poorly, shooting a 94. My dad did too, he shot a 103. It was like these two guys just haunted us, and I have spent the past 36 hours trying to figure out why.

They had every right to be out on the golf course, just like us. Especially Bill, who, for all of his faults, was actually a much better golfer than we were. And Chris looked like a San Francisco venture capitalist that played recreationally on the weekends, mostly at courses where his buddies were members. So his presence at a lowly semi-private course was probably just an anomaly. But just like us, he paid his $79 bucks to get out there.

So why did these two individuals bother us so much? My only conclusion is that it was us, not them. Golf is such a rich-white-guy game that usually allows us to play with the same type of people over and over again. These two didn't fit our mold, so we freaked out.

So when Bill took Grey Goose shots at the turn, I shouldn't have cared. And when he decided that ripping ass during my backswing was totally acceptable, I shouldn't have cared. And when he flicked his half finished cigarettes on the green, or blew snot rockets, or drove on the fairway when it was cart path only... I shouldn't have cared.

And, when I had to watch Chris top the ball off the tee, shank his second shot into the woods, drop a ball and hit it into the water, then knock one up the fairway about 100 yards, skull the next one another hundred yards. Whiff, shank it into a trap, pick it up out of the trap, and drop it on the green. Hit four putts and then call the last ten feet a gimmie, then tell us he got a bogey. I shouldn’t have cared.

Right? I should have been the better person and just played my own game.

Wrong. These guys were assholes. Golf has decorum and sacred unspoken rules that forbid this type of behavior. I put on my collared shirt, and kept my mouth closed when they were swinging. I pick up my ball if I am holding up the pace of play. And I act like that because I am a part of something that was bigger than me and my personality. It’s a game, and a tradition. And these two clowns ruined it for me and my dad.

So Bill, Chris, I hope you read this: I hate you. You ruined my round of golf and I will never forgive you.

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