Chip - Aug 2017

Golf and the Late Night Benediction

Golf and the Late Night Benediction
By Chip, The Deacon of Dryness

Merriment reigned throughout the grill that night.  The clock inched toward a new day and our early morning tee times, but no one headed to the exits.  The occasion, Club Championship Eve, the holiest day on the P.C.G.C. calendar and we were all still in the hunt.  The contenders, the pretenders, the has been's and the field bets were all sitting on the lead.  Not a double boogie or four iron is thrown in anger in the entire field.  It was a heady time at Poplar Creek.  We carried ourselves like champions, well more like champions in the winning locker room afterward, but that is only a minor detail.

Thanks to the bar being three deep, I was forced into new territory, I became a listener.  From my somewhat dry perch, I was able to hear the prayers and hopes of our golfers.

“I can hold this lead, said Randy G., if I can manage to keep the ball in the fairway.”   Out of the crowd, I heard someone, presumingly from Southern San Mateo, say,  you all have no chance, if the cart girl has cold Coronas and fresh limes.  No Chance!  “Birdies not Scurvy, right Artie, answered the quiet and unassuming Rod Wyman.  You have to be the healthiest guy in naval history”

“Wait to you guys see my back nine on Sunday, it’ll remind you guys of Pickett’s charge at  Gettysburg.  Tell ’em  Bill, you were there.”  “Sid, countered Feely, don’t you mean Custer at the Little Big Horn?”  And so it went, good natured banter echoing between the leaders, deep into the night.

Swingin’ Mr. Stevens summed it up best, later this morning, when we can hear our heartbeats in the darkness when thoughts get quiet and clear, we will all entertain the club champion dreams of the everyday golfer.

Good Luck, Dreamers.  

Bingo on Thursday!

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