Monday, August 21, 2006
Ol' Casey was Right
Man, it's tough to post when you stay this ^%$#@ busy. Suffice it to say that between the job for which I draw my meager salary and the upcoming Parrot Grande weekend and golf tournament, I'm pretty much tapped out time wise.
I did, however, find time yesterday morning to participate once again in that most frustrating and fruitless of all human endeavors: Golf.
I hit the links at Trilogy Power Ranch with Wayners, Steve-O, and .11. We decided at the first tee that we would play "skins and greenies." Don't ask. I'm just beginning to understand how it works, myself. It's .11's game, and I'm pretty sure it's the golf version of the old card game "Tegwar." The one guy who knows the game simply makes up or changes the rules as he goes along so as to always win. You see, "Tegwar" is the acronym for "The Exciting Game Without Any Rules."
Well, let's just say if that's the case, then .11 isn't very good at it, because I was his partner. Steve-O and Wayners handed us our asses.
There was a lesson to be learned yesterday. .11 and I were down 7-2 at the turn, then won the next two to pull within three. At the 12th, the refreshment cart showed up. Wayners and I got a couple of beers, and .11 - completely out of character - ordered a Gatorade.
Crime Dog: What the hell? Did you quit drinking?
.11: No, I just haven't started yet. We're on a roll here, and I want to keep it going.
So I tell Wayners about the old Casey Stengel quote:
They say some of my stars drink whiskey, but I've found that the ones who drink milk don't win any ball games.
Over the next few holes, it began to look like ol' Casey was mistaken. Wayners couldn't hit the ground if he fell out of an airplane.
By the time we reached the last par-3 on the course, all five "greenies" and a couple of skins were pushed. That meant that whoever could hit the green, make par or better, and win the hole would have the other two by the proverbial short hairs, leaving them no opportunity whatsoever to win the round. Teetotaling .11 had finished his Gatorade, Wayners had worked his way through a couple of beers. Steve-O missed the green. I missed the green. .11 missed the green.
I could see this coming a mile away.
Wayners is the best golfer I've ever seen in real life. But he left the game for a few years, then got sick, and he's been struggling ever since to find his game once again. As soon as he teed up his ball, I said, "This is the part where Wayne turns back into Wayne again."
He dropped the ball about six feet from the hole and rolled it in for the birdie, emptying my wallet in the process.
Do me a favor next time, .11. Have a beer. I'll buy.
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I did, however, find time yesterday morning to participate once again in that most frustrating and fruitless of all human endeavors: Golf.
I hit the links at Trilogy Power Ranch with Wayners, Steve-O, and .11. We decided at the first tee that we would play "skins and greenies." Don't ask. I'm just beginning to understand how it works, myself. It's .11's game, and I'm pretty sure it's the golf version of the old card game "Tegwar." The one guy who knows the game simply makes up or changes the rules as he goes along so as to always win. You see, "Tegwar" is the acronym for "The Exciting Game Without Any Rules."
Well, let's just say if that's the case, then .11 isn't very good at it, because I was his partner. Steve-O and Wayners handed us our asses.
There was a lesson to be learned yesterday. .11 and I were down 7-2 at the turn, then won the next two to pull within three. At the 12th, the refreshment cart showed up. Wayners and I got a couple of beers, and .11 - completely out of character - ordered a Gatorade.
Crime Dog: What the hell? Did you quit drinking?
.11: No, I just haven't started yet. We're on a roll here, and I want to keep it going.
So I tell Wayners about the old Casey Stengel quote:
They say some of my stars drink whiskey, but I've found that the ones who drink milk don't win any ball games.
Over the next few holes, it began to look like ol' Casey was mistaken. Wayners couldn't hit the ground if he fell out of an airplane.
By the time we reached the last par-3 on the course, all five "greenies" and a couple of skins were pushed. That meant that whoever could hit the green, make par or better, and win the hole would have the other two by the proverbial short hairs, leaving them no opportunity whatsoever to win the round. Teetotaling .11 had finished his Gatorade, Wayners had worked his way through a couple of beers. Steve-O missed the green. I missed the green. .11 missed the green.
I could see this coming a mile away.
Wayners is the best golfer I've ever seen in real life. But he left the game for a few years, then got sick, and he's been struggling ever since to find his game once again. As soon as he teed up his ball, I said, "This is the part where Wayne turns back into Wayne again."
He dropped the ball about six feet from the hole and rolled it in for the birdie, emptying my wallet in the process.
Do me a favor next time, .11. Have a beer. I'll buy.
