Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Bad Golf Partners are the WORST.
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 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.