Having kids can wreak havoc on a social calendar. We used to revel in the simple pleasure of going to a movie on a whim, going to a mall without first considering the feeding habits and bowel movement schedule of children, and going to a driving range or golf course to whack the hell out of a little white ball minus the requisite 3-month planning for a babysitter.

Not that we would change anything, but having kids definitely requires some adjusting.

 

So it was with great pleasure that I accepted an invitation from Ray to go golfing while in Sudbury, which comes with the added bonus of not having to mortgage the house to pay for the round.

 

The 4some was to include myself, Ray, Darrell and Andy. For those of you that know Andy his attendance was predicated on the assumption that some fat bastard in Sudbury didn't take a monster dump and cause the water treatment plant to pull out the industrial strength Roto Rooter. When it comes to Andy the only thing you can count on is that he NEVER turns down an over-time shift, so we were hopeful that sunny skies and a local diet heavy on blueberries might yield the required result. I will cut to the chase and tell you that Andy found something better to do, probably fishing tampons out of the treatment pool (or whatever the hell they call those big vats of polluted water). Darrell was also a no-show, so Lloyd (aka my dad) was activated off the waiver wire and shoved into the rotation.

 

Driving to the course I found out that we were playing 9 holes at a par 3 course. Since having the kids I have played a grand total of 18 holes of golf in 2 years and picked up the clubs a handful of times, so a par 3 course was a little disappointing, but I thought it might well suit my skill level given the protracted time of my absence from the game.

 

The first hole proved to be interesting with a water hazard on the left. First up was Ray, hacking the ball into the brush 20 feet out. I stifled my sarcastic comments because my own first shot, with no warm up, might prove equally embarrassing. Lloyd hits next and drops it 30 feet out but in the clear. By now my tongue is bleeding but I figure there will be ample opportunity in the coming holes to ridicule and embarrass. My turn, and oh what a shot it is ... barely clears the tee box. Quickly pointing to the fact that I have not golfed or hit a ball in a VERY long while I pull out the often used "mulligan" option, that is to say, I get to retake my shot cause, well, I want to. The next one sails out true and clear and sets me up nicely for a second shot to the hole.

Seizing the opportunity, Lloyd announces that he is going to take a mulligan, as does Ray. What the hell, it gives us all a chance to ease our way into the game. Ray's second shot sucks and Lloyd's doesn't, so off we go.

To make a very long story a smidge shorter I will tell you that I shot par, Ray an 8 or some ungodly score and Lloyd shot a 6.

 

Second hole is more water. It is only the second hole and already I am wondering why some moron put so much damn water on this course. How many balls am I supposed to lose? (no, this is not a reference to my impending vasectomy). Ever wonder where all the driving range balls come from? The guy who owns this course pulls them out of the drink and sells them to every golf course in North America. 

Mine goes in the pond, Lloyd's goes in the pond and I think Ray hit a squirrel. I decide to play "point of entry", meaning I will drop the ball and shoot 3 from the point where the ball entered the water. Of course, this is not strictly legal on a par 3 but absence from the game has ensured my selective recollection of golfing rules is now a bigger issue than before. I chip in for par, Lloyd almost kills a frog with his pitch over the green that looked like an Air France plane trying to hit the runway and Ray tries to figure out how come a putter doesn't work so well in the long rough. Par for me, another ungodly score for Ray and Lloyd shoots a 6.

 

Holes 3 thru 6 - more god damned water, lots of lost balls and greens the size of an Oakville backyard. After the first couple of holes I was counting on a par round, which was quickly shattered by my inability to hit the ball without hooking the damned thing. Now the comments are flying, but more times than not I feel the need to be self-deprecating cause my game is horrendous ... not as bad as Ray's, but it does come close at times. Lots of hideous scores, and not just from Ray.

 

Hole 7 was the capper. Over a pond on to a small green. I step up, whack the ball 10 feet and almost decapitate a duck swimming by. I tried to warn him by making duck sounds with my ass but apparently he thought it was a mating call. Lloyd steps up and puts in square in the drink. Ray takes his turn and smacks the ball but it is a line drive. I figured for sure it would hit the far bank and roll back in, but no, in typical Ray fashion it hits the water, skips on the water and lands on the green.

Ray is so ecstatic that his laugh and shaking belly cause a minor earthquake, sending the remaining animals that have not already sought shelter from the rain of death brought on by the three of us scurrying to the nearest golf ball fall-out shelter. I am dumb-founded. Lloyd decides to hit a provisional.

I had to ask ..."a provisional? what do you mean a provisional?".

He replies, "In case I can't play my first shot." Of course, now I think he is insane, or blind, because he damned well knows that his ball went in the drink.

"What do you mean 'in case I can't play my first shot'? The ball is in the water, about 30 feet from the edge and surrounded by weeds. Did you bring hip waders that I can't see?"

"I think it is playable" he said.

Ray is dying, I mean literally dying from the uncontrollable laughter that threatens to cut off his oxygen supply.

"Hit away" I said "but this is NOT provisional and you are hitting 3 off the tee."

Lloyd smacks it and almost kills another duck that was came landing in the pond, probably in an attempt to find the duck that was in heat (never had the heart to tell him it was just my gas that was warbling at an odd pitch because of all the sweat on my ass!).

2 balls in the water for Lloyd, one for me and divine intervention for Ray. I hit another ball but I state up front that I am hitting 3 off the tee. Thankfully this one lands on land ... not the green, but land all the same (now I know how Columbus felt). Lloyd decides to hit a mulligan.

"What do you mean 'mulligan'? You are only allowed one per round."

He feigns deafness again and hits the ball, which lands on the green. I think I actually heard a collective sigh from all the waterfowl in the area.

He turns around and says he will play that ball.

I am truly and honestly at a loss at this point. Rational explanation on why this ball should be played and why he isn't going to take the penalty shots is probably not forthcoming, so I give him a break and attribute it all to short-term memory loss.

Summary - I shoot a 7, Lloyd shoots a 5 (don't ask) and Ray shot a 5 or something (I am not so good with scores ... apparently it is a genetic trait I inherited from Lloyd).

 

The final 2 holes were excruciating. Balls flying all over the place, smacking trees and causing the Sudbury airport to wave off the one flight they get per week because of "unidentified flying Timbits" (only a person living in the Valley would think a white golf ball looks like a Timbit).

 

I was happy to finish and realized that 9 holes is just the right amount of golf for me. After playing so disastrously I am forsaking the game until at LEAST next year, when I hope to play again with Ray and Lloyd and see how many ducks we can bag using a 9 iron and Pro Staff.