The big Tournament

Dear Jim:

Well I have waited one week to report to you on the Centennial tournament as I was whisked in to the Witness Protection Program immediately after the game.

I shot 108 on the Blue. Many people brag about shooting their age. I’m going to be the first member to shoot his blood pressure. I won’t describe the brutality of it but 31 years of practice and tens of thousands on golf school, lessons and oh yes did I mention experience? Weight on the front foot, play it back, play it forward, cock your wrists, follow through, shift your weight, stay back, hold still etc etc. By the time I took that 11 on number 16 I couldn’t remember my mother’s name.

I thought we would have lost big bucks in the betting. Surprisingly after the final tally was in we were down $45. Some up, some down and in the end nothing happened…who knew. It just proves once again that there are more horse’s asses than there are horses and they all play golf.

Our esteemed President, George Waters, has never bet our team in 20 years. His childhood hero was Scrooge McDuck. This year he put together a team of…can I say diplomatically….senior citizens who are long past their “best before” date. There were more artificial joints on that team than would be legally allowed in an official tournament anywhere else. They were 22 under on the first day! George was so happy, he bet our team $2 for the overall score. His hands were shaking but he tried to be brave. I have to tell you that paying George was humiliating and I saw him mark “easy money” beside my name on his betting sheet. You wonder how low can I go? Well this was the lowest of low.

In the old days we watched the results with great anticipation as the same group of sand baggers appeared at the top with -44 or some other ridiculous performance. Now it is all a blur with winners I have never seen before with names I can’t pronounce. Where did everbody go? And who let in all those young guys who can hit the ball 300 yards without breaking a sweat? I’m telling you we are going to hell in a basket and I fear that the remaining few  guys like us will eventually be picked off by snipers just to clean up the membership for good.

So that’s the story. One of our team members quit. He has a very poor memory so he might not remember when next year rolls around and I think we have to soldier on until one of us gets hit by a bus or is killed.

At any rate, I have to go as my 5 ½ year old grandson has figured out how to spit water in my face through a plastic tube and he is calling me for another session in the pool.

I will keep you posted.

Bill Meder

Dear Jim: And the beat goes on....

Dear Jim:

Well it has been a while and I’m getting a lot of pressure to update you on my Golf. People are cruel and seem to love hearing about my misfortunes so here goes.

As you know I like records and I set one yesterday in a mini-competition where I was paired with someone else’s spouse in an attempt to win a Canada day prize. The worst score I have ever recorded for 9 holes was 54. This occurred on the very first day I played at RMGC in 1981. Since then I have spent roughly $20,000 and two thousand hours on fine tuning my body and game to improve, becoming the experienced player you see in front of you today, 32 years later.

 Yesterday I shot 57 on the front 9 of the Blue. It would have been worse had I not had a few good holes in the middle.

As I passed the pro-shop to the back nine an exorcism occurred for no apparent reason and on the back nine I stood on the 18^th hole needing a 4 to post a 43.

 Now for the past 3 years I have hit that tee shot in to the water on the left every time and I was determined not to repeat with so much on the line. I aimed waaaaay right, weakened my grip and decided to just punch out a short drive. The swing occurred in 4 separate, unrelated motions with both feet being off the ground on impact. The ball went due left without a whiff of a curve in either direction and landed in the middle of the ducks swimming along following my play. I carded a 7 and headed in to the 19^th hole.

My partner, who is used to winning, looked depressed and I asked her what the problem was. She said that she was really upset that she didn’t clear the water on the 16^th hole. I told her that I didn’t care then, I don’t care now and no one you discuss this with will care either. I think she was looking for a little more sympathy than I was capable of at that moment and she vowed never to play with me again. That kind of capped off the day and I picked up my prize for most honest golfer and went home.

Today I’m not golfing because I sprained my right wrist when I dug a 6 inch trench with my Driver on the 3^rd hole and my left elbow is still twanging from a 7 iron shot that caused the blade of the club to disappear in to the fairway. There is no bottle of divot repair material large enough, that would have been possible to carry, for the hole filling required.  I won’t even describe my back pain except to say I expect to be able to stand upright around Wednesday.  If I went to the club today and people asked “how are you”? I know they wouldn’t have time for the full assessment and prognosis so I will hide out here at home.

There is more to life than golf, you say. In that spirit and not wanting to let a beautiful day go by I decided to go on a 30 mile bike ride at 6 am this morning. After being passed by at least a 100 other cyclists I decided that I was going to keep up with a 78 year old Grandmother who passed me going up cardiac hill. The pain in my left knee is indicating replacement surgery.

So, sorry for not keeping you up to date on my golf but any further updates will be in the nature of a medical bulletin.

Sally has given me a list of things to do around the house for the rest of the day so I decided that a snooze was in order. Hopefully, tomorrow will be more fun.

I’ll keep you posted.

Bill Meder

Dear Jim: A new season arrives

Dear Jim:

Just finished the three day weekend and am back at golf and as fit as I can be.

Interesting that over the winter the Golf Course maintenance team somehow added 20 yards to most of the holes. No notice to the members and no evidence of how they did it but it is clear that the golf fiends have prevailed and made everything harder. Never mind, I   bought all new equipment designed to add at least 20 yards to every club.

During the test phase the new clubs were unbelievable. Foolishly, I paid for them as soon as the invoice arrived and just like that they became exactly the same as my old clubs only they looked nicer. This is proof positive that there is a higher power in the Universe screwing with you. There is no other explanation.

 I could move up to the red tees but the bullies at our club shout insults when they see you anywhere near them. Everyone I play with does the same thing. Driver, three wood, wedge, hope to sink the putt. I don’t know anyone who gets on the green in regulation but then again I don’t have many people willing to play with me anymore. At any rate I’m going to get a fake beard and glasses and try to move up and see if that works for me.

I used to break 90 every game and looked forward to breaking 80. I now jump from foot to foot when I break 100 and 90 is my new “best game this year” target. The good news is that I now know for certain that I will never go to Florida to play this game all year round so I have saved myself a lot of pain and money to boot.

I have been working out like crazy and my  fitness level is now so high I decided on Sunday to take out my bike that I haven’t been on for a couple of years. I have a route that you and I used to do in 55 minutes.  About an hour and a half in to the run I had begun to wonder if I was going to make it home.   My second thought was, would I make it home before dark? I also discovered that if you don’t turn the pedals fast enough you fall over! Other cyclists were passing me going so fast I thought there was a car race being held on my route. Humiliating. I was able to get the bike back in to my basement and my chiropractor says that I should be able to stand up straight by Friday.  Another activity bites the dust.

So there you have it, my skill set is declining. This phenomenon is supposed to creep up on you. I want more creeping and less drama. I’m running out of things I can do, never mind do well. And if that isn’t enough I’m told in fairly strong terms by people who are in the know that “it isn’t coming back”. Oh well I think I’m going to buy a red Ferrari and whistle at young women.

I will keep you posted,

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: The end of Florida

Dear Jim:

You asked me when I am going back to Florida. The short answer is never.

The weather once again was cold, rainy and windy for our entire stay. Oh yes I do know that It didn’t rain for three months before we came and that after we left there were record highs recorded every day. This is the same story we have heard after every trip to Florida we have taken in the past 10 years. We may be slow to catch on but when I overheard our host calling his buddy, the President of our major airline, asking him to put Sally and me on the “no fly list” for the winter months I realized that no one even wants us there in the first place.

Lots to do, right? Well off to the movies we went just like we do here. A couple of differences. Standing in line with 6 elderly gentlemen we were asked 10 times what movie we were going to. When we go in to the theater one of them asked Sally three times to remind him what movie he had tickets for. When we were in the movie and it had started 10 men came in and shouted” sorry for the interruption, our bus was late” The guy behind me was shouting in to his cell phone “Harry, it’s me, can you hear me?” After the movie the same guy who didn’t know which movie he was seeing asked for directions to leave the theater. No, I’m not making any of this up.

So, with nothing to do, shopping becomes the pastime. In all my years of travelling we have never declared our purchases in excess of the exemption and here is a safety tip. Don’t do it.

Punching in to the Nexus machine that we had to pay duty resulted in two cards being printed with big dollar signs on them. When we got to the exit I proudly waved the cards and said we are here to pay duty. In to the hall we went where 100 immigrants were standing in line clutching their card board boxes and obnoxious little ankle biters as they waited for the 4 or 5 customs agents to go through their stuff. I pushed my way to the head of the line and demanded to know where the Nexus line was and declared that I’m already admitting I’m over the limit and want to pay my duty.

“There is no line for Nexus in here, it is every man for himself and get to the back of the line” Now I’m in line with all the pigs and chickens and there is a dog howling and barking like you have never heard before. I push to the head of the line again and ask the supervisor if there is a “whistle blowers program”. “Absolutely”, he said, rubbing his hands together.

I stated in hushed tones that I had clear evidence that someone was trying to smuggle a dog in to the country. Now, I thought that at least he would smile and say come on in but nooo. “Get to the back of the line” And so it went.

An hour later we were free.

So that’s it for Florida! Don’t ever mention it again.

Bill Meder

A trip to Florida..i.e. Hell

Well it has been a long time. Nothing to report. I'm writing you this as Sally and I make our way to your house in florida.

I tried to get an upgrade on the flight but as usual nothing was available. Smart me decides to pay extra for the bulkhead seats and booked an aisle for me and one for Sally.

As the plane is boarding who do I see coming down the aisle but a 6 foot 3 giant carrying a backpack bigger than my suitcase and an 8 month old little goober in his arms. Right behind him is another one exactly the same with a 1 year old. Oh Boy, keep moving I say, your seat is probably 45 abc. Nope  right beside me and also right  beside Sally.
Now you know I love kids.

Kids, however should be left home with sitters when their parents travel or they should belong to rich parents with private planes. There is no way they belong in my row on a long or short flight for that matter to anywhere.

First up the young bride opens up her tupperware collection and starts eating penne arribiata with her fingers. I'm thinking, what the hell were you doing before we boarded the plane and what happened that you have to eat within 3 minutes of taking your seat.

Not to worry. The Dads decided they had a common bond and talked over me to each other with skill testing questions about sleep habits, burping programs and diaper changing techniques. Every five minutes one of them would jump up, step over me and bounce up and down in the aisle to entertain the little bugger.The jumping was quite aggressive and all three seats in the row bounced three or four inches off the floor with each motion." Why not let the little ladies have a turn" says I thinking they will have enough brains to give the kid some drugs and force it to sleep. Not so fast.

Breast feeding has never been a favourite of mine. From 8 inches there is a lot of sight and sound activity that is very off putting when you are reading a mystery novel.  Women today aren't as shy as our mothers were.I didn't even know my mother had breasts.

 When it became apparent that a diaper change was called for there was a move to do it at our seat. " Don't even think about it" I said." I am a pedophile and my counsellor says I shouldn't be exposed to naked kids" I spat out at them.

I don't know what diseases these kids have but I have them all now. Each cough resulted in a fine mist sprayed over my entire body. And they came fast and furious for the whole flight.

Finally, I got the two kids on my side of the aisle and moved on to Sally's side. I sat in the middle seat. I love a middle seat in economy. So cozy. The guy sitting beside me was so sticky from kid goop I thought he was wearing Velcro each time I made physical contact with him.

Now I have always known that  when you arrive at the gate and the agent asks how many wheelchairs do they need it is to take off the people who died flying in the back of the plane. I put in my order 1 hour out of Fort lauderdale and hoped that my friends and family would understand that no sane person could live through this.
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Jeremy Reitman is my witness to all of this but he was and probably is still laughing so hard he can't talk so I thought I would get this out before I succumb to whatever disease I am obviously infected with.

Bill Meder