It happens every year about this time. Yes, the weather turns cold where I live and I have to put my 96-year-old caddie into suspended animation until spring. That is a good thing because that is the most animation I have seen out of him all year long.
I am not saying that he doesnâ€™t move around much but last month the coroner came by the green on seventeen at the Mooresville Municipal Golf Course and Lube Change Facility and tried to attach a toe tag on him.
The only reason they didnâ€™t haul him off in the hearse is that the rest of us were just as stiff as he was after seventeen holes and the accompanying shotsâ€¦and I donâ€™t mean with the golf balls.
I am not saying we tipple a bit but by the time we meet the Cosmic Golf Pro and go to that big tournament in the sky, weâ€™ll be pre-pickled and the undertaker could save his juice.
See, that is what happens to me every year. No, I donâ€™t get pickledâ€¦well yes I do but I donâ€™t just die. I grouse myself to death because I canâ€™t get out on the links.
My wife doesnâ€™t understand me. This is in itself not a news flash but she could be a bit more compassionate. When she sees me polishing my Ping with a faraway look and a constant mutter issuing from my lips, she could offer support by forcing me to play the golf simulator on the computer but Nooooooo!
She simply doesnâ€™t get it. She will grump at me and give me wintertime to do list.
I ask you. How can a male golfer repair the plumbing under the sink while his mind is on a fairway in sunny Florida? With that kind of distraction the toilet will flush every time she turns on the spigot at the kitchen sink.
I guess I have the Winter Golfing Blues.
I know some guys who never let winter faze them. They don their insulated underwear and battery operated ball warmers (golf balls, you pervert) and trek Iditerod style onward.
I am not that way. I merely sit around the house like a grumpy bear that has been awakened too early from hibernation. I growl and grumble about everything until spring arrives.
I can only dream of that far off day when I can banish the blues; thaw out Grandpa, scrape off the moss and resume play.