A few years ago a handful of my high school buddies started getting together every year. They’re great guys and I’m always glad to see them!

But every year we do something they love, I loathe. Golf.

I’m not talking about fun golf, like Putt-Putt, where you navigate obstacles, putt over the astro turf hill, and maybe even win a free game with a hole in one at the Windmill. Nope!  Nothing fun like that!

They like golf-golf, where you whack a little white ball (orange for me so I can find it in the woods) and hit it over acres and acres of mowed grass that’s had gallons of ‘Weed Be Gone’ sprayed on it. The only goal is to knock the little ball in a coffee cup in the ground that you can’t see.

Psft!  What are they thinking?!

What’s the difference between an eagle, birdie and boogie…no wait, that’s bogey…boogie is a dance style.  And “par” wasn’t a word until one of the Scotts who invented golf stuttered, “That c,c,c,coffee cup in the g,g,ground is f,f,f,f, Par away!”  The term stuck.

Golf’s not really a sport. It’s more fun to hunt mosquitoes with a 22 rifle than golf.

Heck, golf’s not even a game. It’s boring! Solitary confinement is more exciting!

But still, every year they pull out their latest set of Calloway clubs with little boots on the end of each club.  I guess it keeps the clubs from rusting, or keeps city pigeons from pooh bombing their clubs, something.

They carry their clubs in super supreme golf bags with more leather than my couch.  And their golf bags have pockets everywhere!  They’ll have color coordinated tees in this pocket. Extra balls in that one. Glucose energy bars in case they get tired from pushing the golf cart pedal. Another pocket has extra scorecards if they need to cheat.

On the side is a little color coordinated hankie towel.  You just want to spin it over your head like it’s a terrible towel at a football game, but it’s for keeping your hands and clubs clean.

Good grief, Charlie Brown!  What’s happened to my friends??  I mean, I feel responsible for these guys!

We used to play sports, real sports, together, like football, hunting, fishing, even horse shoes at the beach could count.  But now, Calvin Klein’s got nothing on them!

They doggone went preppy on me!!

This year one of the guys pulled out binoculars for just one eye.  He didn’t think it was funny when I asked if he bought it for half price.

At first, I thought he was bored too, maybe watching a movie or something.  Turns out, it was a “distance finder”.  Aww come on man! The sign right there says 321 yards to the flag out yonder!

Periscopes on nuclear submarines aren’t as nice his distance finder!

Then another buddy relented, and just to show off, pulled out his own distance finder.  They argued about distances for 8 holes.  Then, the guy claiming the golf course signs were wrong figured out he was measuring meters instead of yards.

Like I said, nice guys. Not Einsteins, but nice guys!

This year I changed things up.  I was tired of begging, borrowing and holding up a cardboard sign that said, “Clubless. God bless if I can borrow your Driving Wood.”

Besides, no matter how well meaning the intent, good the ball, or how nice the clubs, my golf skills reek of pathetic.  Ain’t nothing gonna help that!

So I bought my own clubs this year.  Special purchase from the thrift store!  They wanted too much for a whole set and golf bag, like $23, so I just bought a Putter and 6 Iron for $2.99 each!  PERFECT!

Time to drive a ball down the fairway? No problem.  Used the 6 Iron.

Time to hit over the pond to the green?  Got it! Think I’ll use a 6 Iron.

Time to chip out of the sand pit?  Excellent!  I have a 6 Iron for that.

Played 18 holes with only a 6 Iron and a putter.  Hey you, cardboard sign holder, wanna borrow one of my two clubs?

Honestly, it didn’t matter.  I usually dribble the ball out of the Tee Box 15 or 20 feet anyway, then just yell Mulligan over and over.   After several whiffs, flubs and flops, sometimes I get lucky and get kind of close to the other guys.

The first year, I almost brained my buddy though. I drove off the tee and the ball flew 90 degrees right instead of straight. The only thing that saved his measly life was he saw my orange ball barreling toward him and jumped behind a tree!!

I have to give my friends credit though!  They’re patient.

When I’m hitting, they use the extra time to talk politics, discuss stock prices, and polish their clubs before putting the little socks back on to keep the ends warm.

I used to throw the ball when they weren’t looking, but my rotator cuff just isn’t what it used to be.

Since I own two golf clubs now, I secretly considered taking my socks off so I could put a Fruit of the Loom on both of my clubs to keep them warm too.  Peer pressure…it’s just the worst!

We played the best shot off each other for 18 holes.  My goal was simple – to have the best shot twice that day.

Finally, on the 17^th hole, I didn’t push, hook or slice my shot from the tee.  In fact, (choking on my own humility here), we played off mine as best shot!  Yes!! Somebody take a picture!!

Masters, better size me for a green jacket!  Tiger Woods, look over your shoulder, home boy!  Jim Palmer, better hope I don’t mix half coffee and lemonade and outsell your crazy concoction!!

I can’t wait until next year!

I’m looking for a used $2.99, titanium core, graphite shaft, composite driver with reclaimed wood taken from some grandma’s old hardwood floor.

I’m even gonna pay to practice putting at a Putt-Putt course one day this year.  Besides, it’s easier to pay than climbing over the locked gate at night to play by flashlight.

And next year, I’m dressing the part too!  No blue jeans, cowboy boots, Magellan fishing shirt or camo hat on the course next year! No siree, partner!

When I look for another club at thrift stores, I’m also shopping for long checkered socks, knicker pants, suspenders, and one of those little golf hats that a car ran over to make it flat!   May even borrow Sponge Bob socks from one of the grandkids to put on my 6 Iron and Putter!

Can’t wait! They won’t even see it coming!