Genius After Dark
by Chip Noir
He looked haggard and stooped at the shoulders when he slumped down on the nearest stool. Without looking up, he said, "Scotch with a splash of water, hold the ripples." The innkeeper arched a single brow, nodded wisely, and said, "I'll lock up, this sounds serious. You had better start from the beginning."
Well, he said with a sigh, "I met her on a night when the coyote moon was waning over the lake on the 18th hole in all of its glory. The stars bounced gently off the water giving the brisk November sky a timidly translucent glow. The smell of winter was on the wind, and something magical was in the air. As if on cue, she sat down beside me. She was brunette and vibrant and I was instantly smitten.
That's golf silly season, remember, scrambles, four man best balls, and of course Scotch twosomes. A man doesn't always think straight this time of year." The bartender, up until now silent, asked what was a Scotch twosome? "No, it is not the blending of single malt with double malt. I think that's a felony in California. It's a male-female team tourney. A perfect opportunity to peacock strut without appearing cocky."
You know, he went on, I was somewhat of a ladies man, not in the John Jurgins league, who is, but definitely a genius after dark. My dance card was full most weekends. I thought with my abilities on and off the course, this would be right up my alley. I almost felt bad for ladies, since chicks dig me. I had visions of women dumping their partners mid-round and lining up to play with me. It was glorious.
He then stopped his narration, looked up and down the bar and asked in a covert way if the door was locked. Assured that it was, he said in a sub rosa tone, "She beat me straight up, no strokes needed!" The bartender filled a second glass, took a sip and replied, "I didn't know it was this bad, please continue." "I was a wreck. My game went south, lifeless, limp. It was like playing the cello with a rope. All my postering, primping, and dreams shot down by a pretty face and a better golf game."
I guess, said the bartender, this time with both brows arched, when it comes to the silly season, golf and the ladies don't mix.