Your opponent just putted out. You are tied for the lead. Your ball is 2 feet from the cup on 18. You get a read on the stroke. It is slightly uphill and to drops a bit to the left. You study the environment. Shoot! You would call in an archeologist for an environmental impact study, if you could find one.|
You kneel as if in prayer. You pray.
You feel the grass with your fingers. You run your hand threw it. Heck! You lick it to see if anyone has applied silicone.
You extend your senses out to their very limit. You feel the wind blowing at 2 miles per hour from the west-northwest. It is dry. A warm front is bubbling up from the gulf. You think that you might have to water the garden when you get home…NO!
Focus! Focus! You place your face just inches from the ground to sight up on the hole. You slip your pocket calculator out and do a quick Fourier transformational calculation taking into account the coriolis forces that might be introduced into your shot by the rotation of the Earth.
By this time, your opponent is getting fidgety. He begins to hum.
You fix him with your steely glare and he quiets down.
You stand over the ball and use a set of vernier calipers and a contractor’s square to align yourself to the proper angle.
You grip the putter in a relaxed yet purposeful manner reminiscent of a mountaineer’s handhold on the last knot of his safety line.
You are one with the ball. You are one with the universe. You ARE the ball. You ARE the universe.
You take a breath in slowly and let it half the way out, draw back the putter in a smooth precise motion, then hold…hold…HOLD…HOLD!
The paramedics arrive and administer mouth-to-mouth resuscitation because you held your breath so long that you passed out. This would not be a bad thing except the paramedic is a guy and looks like Cro-Magnon man.
You re-compose yourself and take the shot.
The ball runs as true as a torpedo from a tube. It arrows directly for the hole. Inside you start to feel the unbridled JOY of winning. As you raise your hand in the universal punch of victory, the ball’s gyros tumble and it drifts to the right and picks up the speed of a runaway locomotive making a trip down from Pike’s Peak. The ball ends up in Kalamazoo.
You ponder your options. You may:
A. Call interference from a plastic frog you just happen to have found on the green when your opponent was not looking.
B. Fake a heart attack, since the paramedics are there anyway.
C. As you go into sudden death, pull your Smith and Wesson 44 magnum (the most powerful hand gun in existence…recommended by Dirty Harry), fix you eyes on your opponent and mutter, “Do you feel lucky…well, do ya PUNK?”
I do not know about you, but this happens to me quite regularly. It happened today.
Well. Not exactly. I didn’t pull a 44 magnum. All I had in my golf bag was a Super Soaker water machine gun.
Somehow, I do not think it had the same effect. My wet and somewhat angry opponent eagled the last hole in retaliation.
This is NOT fair!
Instead of sudden death, the oldest player should win in case of a tie. The one who gave more blood to the American Red Cross should win. Of course, he would have to show his 4-gallon award card but he should WIN.
From now on, when I play, I am going to carry a double-headed coin in my pocket for my own version of “sudden death.”
Fred: Well. It looks like a tie.
Carson: Ok. Let’s flip a coin instead of sudden death.
Carson: It will save time and we can hit the clubhouse earlier.
Fred: Ok. Good idea.
Carson: (removes coin) Call it.
Carson: Are you sure you want heads? The last time you called heads, you lost…remember?
Fred: Well…mmmm…I’m not sure.
Carson: Heads is bad…really…it reminds me of a cannibalistic head hunter. It could give you bad mojo.
Fred: Tell you what. I’ll call it in the air.
Carson: Uh. Well…(see no way out) alright…here goes (FLIP!)
(double headed coin lands on….HEADS…what did you think?)
Fred: You lose AGAIN!
I really have got to get me a double-tailed coin for next time.
For more golf humor, please visit author Carson Cockman's Blog Site.
© Copyright 2006 by Carson Cockman
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