Editorial
Front Page - Friday, July 31, 2009
Are We There Yet?
Bratwurst in your dreams
Jay Edwards
On the “Natural State Golf Trail” tour, Fred and I were at Eagle’s Crest in Alma last weekend. The difference in this course and Stonebridge, in Fayetteville, a few weeks before, was the number of people out playing. We teed off a little before 10 a.m. and didn’t see anyone all day — the way golf was meant to be played.
After hitting some “floating” range balls (there is a pond about 225 yards out) we both hit good tee shots on number one. Driving to our balls, Fred told me he had taken three balls from his pocket on the range and hit them. “Why?” I asked. He didn’t really have an answer.
Fred was away and I walked over toward my ball. In a minute he was still searching his bag for a club. At last he looked over and said, “I left three clubs on the tee box.”
“Well go and get them,” I said. This wasn’t the way golf was meant to be played.
I hit my approach, about 20 feet past the pin and waited on my friend, who had already suffered two “super senior” moments. Finally he got back, hit his second shot over the green and drove up to where I stood. “Are you alright?” I asked. He grumbled something and then chipped back over the green. I decided to keep quiet. There is a time when you must leave other golfers to themselves, so they can exorcise the demons from their heads; this was one of those times.
Fred then hit a beautiful chip that almost went in and got his “gimme” bogey. I two-putted for par and, 20 minutes after teeing off, we finished the hole.
Number two is a stunning par three that plays 200 yards from the white tees. I hit a five-iron 25 feet past the hole. Fred hit his to the ladies’ tee and took his belated mulligan, which he hit well. We both made par and drove to the third.
Looking for my tee shot in the rough on three, I was suddenly unable to turn the cart’s steering wheel. So I turned a little harder and something underneath popped, which seemed to fix the problem. When we stopped Fred noticed there was something hanging underneath the cart. It was a silver, mechanical looking thing that looked to be kind of important.
I’d noticed a big cart shed close to the first green and I told Fred I would drive it back there for help. I asked him to keep looking for my lost ball, but I don’t think he did.
I could hear the silver thing scraping along the cart path as I drove back. This wasn’t the way golf was supposed to be played. I arrived at the shed and called for help but no one was there. Being very conscientious about other people’s property, I decided to call the pro shop, so not to risk more damage by driving further. The guy who answered the phone, named Chandler I think, acted suspicious when I told my story. He said he would have preferred I left the cart where it was when the problem first occurred. It had already been a long day and I told him that I preferred he bring me a cart that worked. We got off the phone without further exchange of pleasantries.
Ten minutes later, someone arrived in a new cart. He also told me before I drove off that they had experienced this many times, which made me feel better knowing it wasn’t my fault. I thought about calling Chandler in the pro shop back and telling him maybe he should put a sign up that read – “Because we have bought defective carts, it is likely you won’t make it very far. Please leave the cart where it breaks down and call us.” But I thought better of it and drove back to find Fred.
We finished the rest of our round without further interruptions. Walking off 18 green, a group passed by on their way to the back nine. Fred said, “Did you see what that guy was eating?”
“No, what?”
“He was eating a brat.”
In our round at Stonebridge a few weeks earlier Fred had gotten a brat at the turn, which he said was the best he’d ever had.
“You’re hallucinating,” I told him.
“I know a brat when I see one,” he fired back.
“It’s been a long day,” I told him. “You’re hot, tired, thirsty and hungry, and now you’re spotting brats.”
“Let’s go to the clubhouse and I’ll prove it to you.”
And that’s what we did. And when we got there they didn’t have any brats. Never did have, the girl told us.
Which ended another perfect day.
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