With friends like these.

Dear Jim:

Yesterday I played in a golf tournament. Yes, I know the forecast was for rain, wind and cold temperatures. I communicated that fact to the other three members of our group with a link to the radar system showing a deluge of biblical proportions arriving about 3 minutes before tee off.  If we were pre-paids in Ireland I could maybe understand but..

No reaction, so off I went to the Club secure in the knowledge that no one in their right mind plays golf in the conditions about to descend on the island. A quick coffee, expressions of "too bad" all around, and then off to a movie.

Right on schedule the rain started as we stood under the Portico waiting for clubs to be loaded on to carts etc. As the intensity increased I announced to everyone  “I see a group of senior executives and very rich people preparing to golf. How did you people become successful…you are all obviously a bunch of morons?”

Never mind, off we went to the first hole. Now the wind has come up and the rain is driving sideways. I couldn’t see a thing so I pulled out a tissue to clean my glasses.   No improvement… I wasn’t wearing glasses.

I’m first up and get ready. Now you know that my game is dependent on a sequence of finely tuned moves requiring extreme concentration and finesse. A soft drizzle adds 10 strokes to my game and wind has me picking up on every hole.

 As I stared in to the gale I thrashed away a drive 150 yards straight up in the air, which landed 20 yards from the tee. It only got worse from there.

One member of the team had a 4. Rats, I’m thinking, he isn’t going to quit if he is shooting pars. Sure enough he pars the next one as well. I can just make out his smiling face as the water cascades down his teeth.

By the fourth hole my Footjoy Dry golf shoes are making a squishing noise. My partner keeps the golf cart aimed in to the wind so that the rain is directly on my side of the cart and I have lost all feeling in my right hand. My wet suit is now useless and holds 20 pounds of water.

By the sixth hole the first drops of ice water start to roll down my back, coming from the sopping wet collar of my golf shirt. My hat is raining inside and the brim is flapping and smacking my face like a cold washcloth I used to use to sober up.

My teammates look like drowned rats but no one is talking. I'm starting to think Eulogy highlights.

Finally on the seventh hole we decide to pack it in. A good thing too, I was about to fake a heart attack.  We are on the green that is about 50 yards from the clubhouse so I walk in, my partner takes the cart to the bag shop and everyone heads for the shower.

Not the worst day of my life but one I'm not likely to forget. To make matters worse….

One of my teammates, making a joke, tells 4 of my friends that the only reason he quit was that on the 7 th hole, Bill, without saying a word, gets in the cart and drives off with the clubs, leaving the others holding a putter and nothing else. So they had to quit. Ha Ha Who would believe that I would do such a thing?

Well it seems all 4 friends believed every word saying  “Well, that’s Bill!”

With friends like these…

Four teams finished the 18 holes and good news was that there were four prizes. They were strutting around all proud of themselves and I’m thinking…stay away from these people, they are clearly mentally ill and who knows what they are capable of.

Next week I’m going up to the Chic Chocs a two hour flight due north to hide in the bush pretending to be a male Moose so that female Moose will come looking for me. I don’t know why I signed up for this or what you say to 1600 lbs. Moose lumbering towards you thinking you are up for a little hanky panky.  I think the first thing is to determine if it is a female Moose. That inspection could be down -right dangerous.

I will certainly let you know how this works out if I survive.

Bill Meder