So this Old Guy. . . .

[A repeat from July 14, 2014] So this old guy goes to the golf course. “I’d love to play,” he says to the pro. “But my eyes are really bad. I hit the ball pretty well but I can’t see where the ball goes.”  The pro smiled – “I’ve got just the guy to pair you up with. Old Scott isn’t much of a golfer but he has got eyes like a hawk. I’ll put you and Scott together.”

So the old guy and Scott are introduced, shake hands and head for the first tee.  The old guy bangs his drive about 250 yards.  He turns to Scott “did you see where it went?”   Scott looks over “I saw precisely where your ball went.”  They get in their golf cart – and start rumbling down the fairway.  They drove and drove.  The old guy looks over at Scott “so where did my ball go?”  Scott rubbed his chin “gosh, I don’t remember. . . .”

Do You Play Golf?

[A repeat from March 19, 2017]  Years ago, when I was a States Attorney, I played golf with 7 other guys. Every Saturday morning for several years.  From April to October – we played at Cog Hill. Number 4. Dubsdread. Reserved tee times.  6:30 a.m. or so depending on sunrise.   Second and third foursomes off the tee — usually after Larry Lujack and a group from his radio staff.   

Since I lived in Wilmette, this meant traversing 45 miles to Lemont. Every Saturday morn.  To arrive by 5:45 a.m.  Thus, each Saturday, I was up at 4:00.  Showered, dressed and on the road by 4:30 a.m.

When I left my house, I would not waste time.  If you get my drift.  I gunned the car when I left the driveway and by the time I hit Lake Street, I was doing maybe 50.  In a 30 zone.   Never a soul on the highway.  Except one morning when in the black of night, way back, I saw the flicker of Mars lights moving swiftly in my direction.  #%&X!.  I slowed.  Stopped.  Got out of the car and stood there.  Holding up my license.  A police squadrol ground to a stop and an officer got out.  I was wearing khaki shorts, flip flops and a golf shirt so I didn’t look like much of a threat.  “Do you know how fast you were going?” he asked as he approached.   I handed him my license.  “Yes sir – I do.  I was going too fast.”  And then I offered “Are you a golfer?”  He looked at me.  “Yeah.  Why?”  I responded “I live back there.”  I turned and pointed.  “Every Saturday morning, I play golf at Cog Hill in Lemont.  We tee off in about an hour.  And I confess that I sometimes go faster than I should when I leave my house.”  

The officer looked at me.  Chewing on my comment.   “Well most Saturdays, I’m sitting right back [he turned and pointed] there. Keeping an eye on things.  Do me a favor.  Go the speed limit from now on.”  And he handed me back my license.  “Hit ’em straight” he said.  And walked back to his cruiser.  

Do You Play Golf?

Years ago, when I was a States Attorney, I played golf with 7 other guys. Every Saturday morning for several years.  From April to October – we played at Cog Hill. Number 4. Dubsdread. Reserved tee times.  6:30 a.m. or so depending on sunrise.   Second and third foursomes off the tee — often after Larry Lujack and a group from his radio staff.   

Since I lived in Wilmette, this meant traversing 45 miles to Lemont. Every Saturday morn.  To arrive by 5:45 a.m.  Thus, each Saturday, I was up at 4:00.  Showered, dressed and on the road by 4:30.  

When I left my house, I would not waste time.  If you get my drift.  I gunned the car when I left the driveway and by the time I hit Lake Street, I was doing maybe 50.  In a 30 zone.   Never a soul on the highway.  Except one morning when in the black of night, way back, I saw the flicker of Mars lights moving swiftly in my direction.  #%&X!.  I slowed.  Stopped.  Got out of the car and stood there.  Holding up my license.  A police squadrol ground to a stop and an officer got out.  I was wearing shorts and a golf shirt so I didn’t look like much of a threat.  “Do you know how fast you were going?” he asked as he approached.   I handed him my license.  “Yes sir – I do.  I was going too fast.”  And then I offered “Are you a golfer?”  He looked at me.  “Yeah.  Why?”  I responded “I live back there.”  I turned and pointed.  “Every Saturday morning, I play golf at Cog Hill in Lemont.  We tee off in about an hour.  And I confess that I sometimes go faster than I should when I leave the house.”  

The officer looked at me.  Chewing on my comment.   “Well most Saturdays, I’m sitting right back [he turned and pointed] there. Keeping an eye on things.  Do me a favor.  Go the speed limit from now on.”  And he handed me back my license.  “Hit ’em straight” he said.  And walked back to his cruiser.  

Golf – is 70% Mental and 30% Mental

The only time I ever took out a one-iron was to kill a tarantula. And I took a 7 to do that.  ~ Jim Murray

The only sure rule in golf is – he who has the fastest cart never has to play the bad lie.  ~ Mickey Mantle

Sex and golf are the two things you can enjoy even if you’re not good at them.   ~ Kevin Costner

After all these years, it’s still embarrassing for me to play on the American golf tour. Like the time I asked my caddie for a sand wedge and he came back ten minutes later with a ham on rye.
~ Chi Chi Rodriguez

Give me golf clubs, fresh air and a beautiful partner, and you can keep the clubs and the fresh air.  ~ Jack Benny

Professional golf is the only sport where, if you win 20% of the time, you’re the best.   ~ Jack Nicklaus

The only time my prayers are never answered is on the golf course.  ~ Billy Graham

If you watch a game, it’s fun. If you play at it, it’s recreation. If you work at it, it’s golf.   ~ Bob Hope

If you think it’s hard to meet new people, try picking up the wrong golf ball.   ~ Jack Lemmon

You can make a lot of money in this game. Just ask my ex-wives.
~ Lee Trevino

So this Old Guy. . . .

So this old guy goes to the golf course. “I’d love to play,” he says to the pro. “But my eyes are really bad. I hit the ball pretty well but I can’t see where the ball goes.”  The pro smiled – “I’ve got just the guy to pair you up with. Old Scott isn’t much of a golfer but he has got eyes like a hawk. I’ll put you and Scott together.”

So the old guy and Scott are introduced, shake hands and head for the first tee.  The old guy bangs his drive about 250 yards.  He turns to Scott “did you see where it went?”   Scott looks over “I saw precisely where your ball went.”  They get in their golf cart – and start rumbling down the fairway.  They drove and drove.  The old guy looks over at Scott “so where did my ball go?”  Scott rubbed his chin “gosh, I don’t remember. . . .”

A Hole-in-One . . . .almost. . . .

Have you ever had a hole-in-one?  No – neither have I.  But I’ve come close.  On Sunday, August 7th, I came the closest ever – about 12 inches from the pin.  The site – Evanston Golf Club.  17th hole.  Playing about 215 yards.  A little wind against (I wanted to say “against gale force winds“).  I pulled out my 3 wood and spanked my Pro V-1 just like Tiger W. . . ahm . . . . I mean Phil Mickelsen.  The ball took off high and perfectly straight.  I knew I had exceeded even my own grandiose expectations.  “Wow!  Great shot” said the caddie.  “That could be in the hole,” said my friend Norm.  Unfortunately, part of the green is obscured by a fairway bunker so no one could see the result.   So we walked.  As the pin came into view, I saw that the ball was resting a matter of inches from the hole.  An angry-looking ball mark splayed grass and turf where the ball had slammed into the green. 

I marked and cleaned my ball and thought briefly “gee what if I 3 putt?”    But I knocked down the putt for a 2.  Birdie. 

A hole-in-one is rare and I had one.  Almost.  But “almost” doesn’t count.  It either is or isn’t.  My birdie could have been a chip in from the fairway or a 12 foot putt.  Suffice to say, I’m still looking for that “ace.”  One day . . . .