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Pinehurst is hosting the U.S. Open, again. It was only six years ago that the small town in the North Carolina sand hills watched as Payne Stewart punched the sky in victory. He died in a plane crash a few months later. There is a new bronze statue of him behind 18. Very classy, Pinehurst…very classy!
I am glad that we Carolinians are getting some credit for being high-class sophisticates of golf. We have manners. Well…most of us do.
There IS Cletus Bumgardner.
Cletus wears overalls on the fairway. He drove 20-penny nails through the soles of his size 13 brogans to create his own golf shoes. Cletus is nothing if he is not innovative. Before he got his spikes, he played bare footed.
He can’t get the tractor most days to ride into town to play on the city courses, so he plays cow pasture golf at its very best on “Hawg” Henderson’s Angus farm. You should see what he uses for a golf tee. Let’s just say you don’t really want to reach down and have to handle the divot, if you get my drift.
Cletus’s scorecard looks like somebody ciphered the national debt on it but he keeps count the best he can.
Cletus loves the game. He carved his first set of clubs out of hickory limbs off the farm.
Granted, Cletus isn’t the most fashionable player on the farm circuit. He doesn’t have the latest technology nor does he keep up with the who’s who on ESPN.
He just loves to play golf. He says it takes his mind off his hectic life chasing chickens and milking cows and plowing endless fields.
I’ve seen him on his John Deere with his homemade clubs in a tater sack slung across the back of his spring-loaded seat…(The tractor’s seat not actually HIS seat).
Cletus is not the demographic that advertising agencies and network wheeler-dealers go after. You don’t see folks like him in commercials for custom-made golf carts.
Yet, Cletus lives just a few miles from Pinehurst. You can bet your bottom land and chip in the back forty to boot that he will be somewhere in the gallery. He’ll be watching his heroes swing and putt and he will suck in his breath when an important birdie is missed. He’ll probably cuss too loud for some of the more educated patrons, when Vijay lips one out of the cup. You can bet the camera won’t linger on him when he pauses to dip a finger full of Tube Rose snuff in between his cheek and gum.
So, when you are there at the beautiful village of Pinehurst and your eyes linger on a rough cob of a man with a grin on his face and a twinkle in his eye, try not to see him as out of place.
Just look kindly on him as he lives out a dream.
Besides…if he ever perfects that gizmo of his that pops the ball up out of the cup automatically so one doesn’t have to bend over to get it out, he is liable to be a millionaire hick with hot and cold running chamber maids and a chauffer to drive his John Deere.
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For more golf humor, please visit author Carson Cockman's Blog Site.
© Copyright 2006 by Carson Cockman
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