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Golf Trophies
By Carson Cockman

Golfers have not evolved since the days of the Paleolithic era.

I can prove it.

The other day, a golfing buddy of mine who shall remain nameless but who wears plaid knickers and carries a Big Bertha in his bag in blatant defiance of the Rules of Golf, beat me soundly at the Mooresville Municipal Golf Course and Lube Change Facility.

When I paid up on the small but embarrassing wager, he took my fifty and held it up into the light. He peered at it at arms length and then looked closely at it as if he was checking to see if it was counterfeit.

I swear… that time I paid off my debts at the 18th with Monopoly money was because my then infant son had replaced my stash of cash with his play money…I swear!

He then announced in a voice loud enough to be heard at the county seat that he was going to laminate the bill and frame it. It was a by Gawd TROPHY! He would place it prominently in the clubhouse so that EVERYONE could see the proof of his golfing prowess.

It was a devastating humiliation and psychological strategy that would hinder my ability to play (much less show my face) at future competitions.

I wish I had thought of it, first.

But I didn’t and it got me thinking about the similarities of Jimmy (ooops!) and our Paleolithic hunter ancestors.

I also thought many other bad thoughts about his ancestry.

But I digress.

Our ancient golfing ancestors, from the cave dwelling days, spent most of their time fending off Spauldingosaurs and Wilsonoraptors and hunting for round rocks to use as golf balls in the local giant mosquito-laden lakes and tar pits…much as we do today.

They also had to allocate many hours to foraging for the remains of their caddies to give them a decent cave-man burial when the PGAradactyls got them.

So, when they actually DID complete a tourney and survived to make it to the club-cave, they celebrated with fermented palm frond juice and bragged to their cave-buddies.

Imagine, if you will:

Oog: Uhg! I can’t BELIEVE you three putted that last hole! Let me tell you cave-man, that was a close one!

Ugh: It didn’t help that you were standing behind me making flatulasaurus noises with your armpits while I was lining up. (Pays off in fern leaves)

Oog: Hey Guys! Look at this! I beat Ugh here by one stroke! I got the ferns to prove it! I know! I’ll dry these and hang them up here in the club cave and then every time anyone looks at it, they will see my mighty golfing prowess. Soon, I will be famous and all the cave clans will worship me and give me my choice of bronto-steaks and women.

Ugh: If I were you, I take the steaks…I’d hate to see the results of you getting any women.

See? You almost bought that, didn’t you? With that fake fifty…

That is about as scientific a proof as it gets.

© Copyright 2007 by Carson Cockman

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