Golf Attire For The Truly Insane Fanatic Golfinator
By Carson Cockman
Does the idea of neon green and hot pink-checkered knickers, wing tip golf shoes and bright blue and white captain’s cap sound like a golfing fashion statement to you? If it does, ask the orderly to up your medications and get your favorite pair of sunglasses.
You are about to meet “The Golfinators!”
Golf is the one sport in which Dennis Rodman, formerly of the Chicago Bulls basketball team, (a mental image of him replete with nose ring, in a wedding dress is wedged in my brain like a toothpick in a martini olive), would likely be considered a fashion wussy.
I am sure that if OSHA had standards for loudness of clothing, the Golfinators would register somewhere slightly above a space shuttle lift-off at 100 paces.
Who are these Golfinators, you may ask?
The Golfinators are a team of highly trained amateur duffers who play what may be politely called mediocre golf for charity.
They consist of me and several friends who rotate their duties to complete a fearsome foursome that closely resemble what looks like the Harlem Globe Trotters of Golf.
The High Sheriff of Spaldingdom is usually my brother-in-law, Kelly. He is a pastor of a local church and wrestles mightily with the Lord every Sunday whether to preach or reach par. He wears clothing that could be called hillbilly chic. Imagine if you will, a short Jed Clampett, complete with hound dog.
Then there is my brother Alan, the clown prince of Putterdom. He is a massive fellow whose hulking bulk belies the grace of a ballerina…as long as the ballerina weighs 300 pounds and fits her pointy shoes like an Abrams tank fits a careless foot soldier in its path. His fashions are varied but are designed by the famous galactic guru of golfing panosh, Zargon of the planet Nimrod.
There is my son, Ashley, who normally is a credit to his parents and is a hard-working restorer of antique brass and silver in Morrisville, North Carolina. However, when he is a Golfinator, he releases the pent-up wackiness (which I am SURE is NOT genetic) by dressing as a wide variety of characters. He may show up in a gorilla suit. He may be John Paul Jones. He may be Elvis. We never know who or what he is going to be. We just hope he never shows up as the character Jack Nicholson played in that famous golf movie “The Shining”.
Of course there is that Captain of The Clubhouse…That Supreme Commander of the Scorecard…that Diva of Driverdom…ME!
I dress as I described in the first paragraph. With collapsible spy-glass in hand, I lead the Golfinators where no rednecks have gone before.
Together, we charge onto the course with verve and reckless abandon hoping that we will not get run off by the management before the back nine. We take on all comers for local charity until we poop out or until the edible consumables do, which ever comes first.
Most of the time, we lose graciously. That is, if you call throwing a tantrum on the final hole graceful. We have been known to play practical jokes on our opponents that results in general frivolity.
It is all done in good fun and for good causes.
So, should you be strolling down the fairway on number three, par four dippsy-doodle to the left and glance serenely over at an adjacent hole, there to see a gaggle of players reflecting enough light to qualify for preservation as a coastal lighthouse, do not panic!
Come on over and join us as we do for Golf what Abbott and Costello did for Baseball…what the Keystone Cops did for law enforcement…what Steve Martin did for banjo playing.
God have mercy on us all!
For more golf humor, please visit author Carson Cockman's Blog Site.
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