Golf is not good for a Divorce

A good friend of mine was telling me a few days ago how he's taken up golf, well.. going to the driving range anyways, which is ok as a start and it got me remembering my "dabbling's" with Golf myself, many years ago.... I was Terrible and do NOT recommend it as a hobby if your looking for Stress relief!

This is a LONG story so you might wanna make a brew and a meal first....

Back in 1997 when I was going thru a rather turbulent divorce, my long time Wing-Man (we'll refer to him as "Goose" for now as he's shy) took me to one side, Bitch-slapped me and told me I should take up Golf to "De-Stress" before I topped myself and I think also that particular day I'd even been that frustrated (in all senses) that I'd propositioned a Lesbian colleague for a date... (that's another story)

Personally I think a "Lingerie catalogue", tub of hand-cream and a few minutes with a Barry White CD would have been more of a relief, certainly quicker and a damn site cheaper than Golf myself, for I was to spend most Sundays, a few Thursday nights, a Squintillion Pounds, an embarrassing credit card Decline in "American Golf" (a shop I can no longer legally frequent) and a number of near misses with the police going down the I'll-fated Golf route...

Anyways, off we went to "Gooses" local golf club, me with no golf clubs to my name but a borrowed set from sometime circa. 1900,

"Now First rule" He said "is NOT to swing so hard that You get a slipped disc... Just swing slowly"

I think this was about my 3rd. Swing,

one missing completely,

one missing just slightly, but just enough to force the ball off the Tee,

and one where the club had gone further down the fairway than the fucking ball did..

It didn't help that I had a set of office shoes on that had no grip at all (that was my excuse anyway)

I swapped the faulty "bat", to a  5 wood, smaller head but it felt better in my hands, stepped, called the Ball a "Dirty Little Bitch" Took aim, Yelled "Your mine!" And Swung.... BLAM!

Yes, Blam! (I OWNED the little Bastard this time) and it took off, Waaaayyyyyyy past the end of the Tee like a Rocket!

"You BIG Hitting B@stard!" Goose Blurted

However, my success at hitting long drives (occasionally) did not help my score card one bit, as the next shots that you're supposed to "tickle" onto the green and into the hole (like Prom night) were about as successful as my sex life, Not too often, and usually on my own as everyone else had left... Whichever idiot came up with the Parr scoring system and especially as single figures obviously didn't have me in mind...

There's a famous saying by Mark Twain about Golf that goes something like "Golf, a good walk Spoiled!" well I don't particularly like Walking either so I was well screwed!

After a few more goes, I regularly got my "18 holes" score down to the early 90's, something I was getting a little more happy with, still Crap but better... And by this time I'd spent a few quid on a set of Golf shoes (with spikes) so I no longer ended up looking up at the sky flat on my back after a Tee-off and no more incidents slipping backwards into Bunkers, something I was becoming rather adept at; I was amassing quite a mound of sand back at home on emptying my shoes; and I also had a "faux" leather (cheap but classy) golf bag and a set of steel clubs from "Argos" I was on my way.....

Don't Drink & Play Golf

It was around this time my Divorce took an ugly turn and after a rather bad week of being "Fisted" by both my ex-wife AND Divorce lawyer (a woman who looked REMARKABLY like "Cherie 'Fucking' Blair" AND enjoyed the financial perks of the similarity) I decided to drink lots of Vodka and Orange. Unfortunately the only orange in my parents' house (where I was now living) was cordial syrup, very thick syrup, the kind your supposed to Dilute with a gallon of water, I didn't.. I just 'Glooped' it into a few large measures...

NEXT MORNING...

I came downstairs for breakfast to a stern faced father and an unsympathetic mother...

"What?" I asked...?

It turns out, that over the course of a few hours, I had been coming back downstairs to the kitchen (in-between vodka top-ups) taking 'tomatoes' out of the fridge and commenting on my walk back upstairs, to my bemused parents 'how good these sausages are!'

What you need to know here is that I HATE tomatoes... I Heave at the taste of them...

That wasn't the end of it.... Apparently, later on (early hours of THIS morning) I woke my parents with lots of loud Clangs!?

Turns out I was "Chipping" golf balls off my bed against the radiator...?

Desperate Dating

During one of my "good walks spoiled" I was bantering with "Goose" about my desperate attempt at Dating when I'd asked the lesbian colleague out....

He was as bemused (as I was now, some months later) as to...

WHAT...? WHY...? HOW...?      HOW??

Well... As I said, I had been "without" for a while, and albeit the 'army issue' no  2 clipper haircut, long sleeves, tight "commando" pants & Doc Martin boots 'should' have given it away, she was however, very pleasant and had a great figure so... In for a penny and in for a pound, I thought I'd try my arm...

As it happens the awkward "Sorry.. I don't date 'men' (looooong pause) that I work with... Well 'Men' at all.... (looooooonger pause) just...... 'women' "

(awkward look and... DING!! Light bulb) was how it went down...

Golf 'Etiquette'

Unfortunately an element of Golf has an 'Etiquette' and a Pompousness about it which I cannot stand or adhere too, nor did I need it.  Some of the Golf courses have the typical "Anal Golfers" that will chastise you for not having the correct etiquette, and having the wrong "un-tailored" shorts or that your top button isn't fastened.. and Surprisingly?? they don't take kindly to being told (when I'd neglected to take my Tourette's medicine) to 'quote':

"Suck on my Ass" or "kiss my Squirrel"

:0)

Swinton (The course that should not be named)

The stress levels that golf enraged on me were non-stop... One of our favourite haunts playing was a non-too-challenging little number in "Swinton".

This course has a couple of awkward 'Tee-offs' alongside houses, One of which is from the crown of a hill onto a large 2 way fairway, but nicely prominent to the right side of you NOWHERE near where you should be aiming is a housing estate... those houses are the style that has wooden cladding between the upstairs and the downstairs...

I stood on the Tee, placed my ball, lined up my club, pictured the ball, became one... With the ball, took the club back and dragged it down, through the ball....
"DING" that beautiful sound that all Golfers listen for...

I Dared to look for it heading straight...?        But.... It wasn't there?  "Where the F...?"

"Oh Shit.... It's heading towards the houses....!"

"CLACK!!"

Bloody loud, the Ball (probably the one I called a Bitch) struck the cladding!

"Bugger me??" I screamed, about turned and fucking legged it!

That... Was a quick game that night!!

On another occasion, Same hole ironically!  (but a few weeks of exile later) I was down on the fairway, where the ball was supposed to have been last time, but having equally as frustrating a game, I had just "chipped" my ball, supposedly with a light grip, straight over the green, over the trees and into (what I think was) the industrial estate at the back....

"B@STARD!!!!"

So, I did what every "stress-free" calm, grown man does in that situation.... I set about m golf bag with my pitching wedge like a caveman on Acid... That bag got a serious beating!

and I "Shit you not" there was a following group of Golfers that were on the "crown" of that same hole that turned about.

Don't play Golf in a Thunder Storm!

At that course that shall not be named, with my Wing Man "Goose" we set out one 'overcast' evening after work, got a few holes in and there was a sudden shift in wind dirction, now I'm not 'Michael Fish the Weatherman' nor am I blaming him for not seeing the Storm brewing, but it suddenly got very dark, and you got that funny smell (no not that smell, that was to come shortly), the smell of 'electricity'
the Heavens opened.... grabbed our Golfing Brollies (I also went through a good few of these as well), opened them up, and huddled to the floor....

The Thunder Roared and the Lightening Cracked, I very well may have Sh*t myself, and did not ever envisage dying on a Golf Course, but am pretty sure we came close to it that evening...

American Golf

I decided that the shitty Argos Golf clubs weren't up to my requirements anymore... And I needed a new bag anyways, so I went out one night to "American Golf" with my shiny new Gold Card that I'd acquired as I now on the last legs of my Divorce, and safe in the knowledge that my blood-sucking ex-wife could no longer get anything from me as this "stone" had been squozen dry, and I was purchasing for my new house (this is important to know as to what comes next)

I arrived at THE golf store, very excited, I was heading for the big time, I had a new set of clubs (and... errr.. Bag) to buy!

I had a mooch, went from stand to stand, looked at many clubs, tooooooo many clubs, too much selection...

Then... There they were!!!

A light "beamed" down from the heavens (turned out to be a Dodgy  Florescent Tube! but it 'could' have been a sign?) .....they were beautiful, ....Blue... Slightly shorter than some that I'd been pawing but still nice, and they had a wonderful "feel" too them ...Delicate even..

I tried them one after another, Wedge, Irons and the Putter... 'Tap, Tap, Tappity Tap...'   Perfect!

"Excuse me Sir? sir??"

"Yes?!"

"Are you buying those as a present...? perhaps.... for someone specific?"

"??? You..... GIFT WRAP?" I beamed!?

"err... No Sir... But you're in the ladies section... those are LADIES clubs?"

How Bloody humiliating!!!             I moved swiftly away...

I saw a name I knew... "Arnold Palmer"         am sure he was a good golfer!

KABLAMMO!!!       Those... Are Men's Golfing Bat thingies!!!

Black & Gold, Graphite Shaft Bastards!!       Oh YES!

Hmm... Pretty hefty price tag though, With a set of woods (also Graphite) a new bag and a new set of shoes... Why not, I deserve to treat myself, many hundreds of pounds but hey.... I got a Gold Card!

The sales assistant probably popped his sphincter when he saw me lumbering up with irons, bag, woods & shoes, probably knocking over a number of display stands on my way to the till.....

"KA-CHING!"

He tilled it all up and asked me those fateful words... "Cash or Card Sir?" Beaming at me with Pound signs in his eyes...

"That'll be 'Card'" as I slid the Gleaming Gold card across the counter at him...

"DECLINED" Flashed up on the machine, and what sounded like a Air-Raid Siren went off in my head, a Smugness with a tinge of Disappointment glided over the assistants face...

"Whaaaaat??! It... It... Can't be... What the F...?"

I demanded the phone... I was gonna call some Bastard at the credit card and rip him a new one!!

Turns out, in my haste to 'furnish' my new abode, those bastards at MFI had taken the full amounts on the stuff I'd bought a couple of days earlier and not the deposit they were supposed to take hence I'd "Maxxed" out the sodding thing within a week of having it... Gargh!

I tried to explain my case to the Knob-head at the till, but in between him being Pissed at me at the loss in commission on this order (to no doubt put speed stripes and furry dice on his mk1 Xr2) and his urgency in making me look like a Cock in front of the Queue that had amassed (where had all these people suddenly come from? Had he sold tickets?) he called for one of his other "gang" to as he out it "re-stock the unpaid for items" and asked me to move out of the way of the other 'customers'

I... went... F*cking 'Berserk'  

I was a man on the Edge, I had been screwed over for 18 months and wasn't being humiliated by this Tosser and went off at him, called him an Arsehole and demanded to see the Manager...

Another "Youth" arrived and... He had a "manager badge" that I'm assuming his Mum pinned on him each morning? (he didn't get that joke unfortunately)

But.... After Much-Ado he agreed to "hold" the items for me for a few days!

(I went to a different store with cash)

Surprising How Fast can you run with a golf bag?

Back to the same Golf course I'd frequented before, again in disguise, and with my wing-man "Goose" AND at the hole that I was cursed with.. Well actually the next one but close enough to cause me distress...

This holes strike path runs alongside the M61 and the A666 (St. Peters way) on the outskirts of Bolton, it's like a Ball Magnet!

There we were, on the Tee, to the right is a high embankment separating you from the Motorway.... and 'Goose' says

"ok... Take your time and just tap it... It's a long complicated hole, you're not gonna get to the Green.... You're in the 'Danger Zone!'".            (see what I did there?)

I couldn't help myself, I struck it and it lifted, nicely, up, up and then.... NOOOOO!

it started to "Slice" to the right... Out of vision and then Silence....

"F*CKING HELL!!!"

We ran like Bastards!

'Goose' had an expert opinion on this "Slicing", which did seem to ring true, as I had started to fill my (replacement) bag, back up, one-by-one with my cheap-shit Steel shafted 'Argos' Irons... In his very valued opinion, I had "Fast Hands"

"What?!?!?"

"You have Fast Hands!"

"What's my sex life got to do with this?!"

"No... I mean you're just TOO quick for Graphite shafts... They're too 'Whippy' You should go back too Steel shafts, they're Stiffer and not so Whippy!"

How ironic!?

He could have told me that BEFORE I spent £400 Bloody quid!

Slice & Dice - Take Two

One of the other Golf course I played (only once or twice for good reason) was one in Manchester (remaining anonymous)

Now this course had a rather high First Tee on top of a Hill that you drive the ball across a small valley onto the opposite side of the hill, and this is only the first Tee!

Unfortunately.... the Car Park is to the right, and they didn’t (at the time) have 'safety' nets for bad golfers and Bloody Terrible golfers (like me!)

I lined up, weight in the middle (probably wrong), swung back, feeling that I needed to really let fly, and "THWACK!", again off it shot, then quickly VEEEEEEERED to the right, and started to dive...

"Oh Crap, Oh Crap, OH CRAP!!!"

I couldn’t look, I feared for my bank balance and my Ass, there were Mercedes galore in that Bloody car-park... DEATHLY SILENCE... (I'm sure that even the birds stopped tweeting to watch)

My co-players, (Not "Goose" on this occasion) didn’t see either, we all seemed to be huddled down on the floor like Telly Tubbies, a few moments passed, no raised voices were heard, so we stood up, checked my trousers, then that we hadn’t been seen (hitting the ball, or huddling like little girls) and continued on with the day.

Papa's Garden

And so it was, that from around this time onwards it came to be a regular occurrence that I seemed to break the heads off most of my "Arnold Palmer" irons:

Trees,

Fences,

(replacement) Golf bag,

Even... A frozen pond

All became merciless Assassins to my BLOODY expensive golf clubs (I blame shoddy workmanship by 5 years old's in a sweat shop and Piss Poor manufacturing standards)

Most of these "shafts"  now stand like Monuments anbd feint memories opf glories past..... In my parents garden as VERY expensive Garden canes!

It's not the Shed's fault is it?

I think on what was very likely the last time I played golf, I'd had a pretty awful game, was seriously Pissed off and at a loss as to why I was wasting breathe on such a Stupid activity so upon reaching home I went to my Shed to store away the (recently battered but replaced) bag, remaining clubs and shoes; I opened the shed door, took the bag by its Balls and Lunged it into the shed (I really was That pissed off) unfortunately, I seem to throw Golf bags much better than I Hit golf balls...

The Bag went part way through the Shed window on the other side....

(c) SparkysDiary.com