Getting ready for the big Centennial Tournament

Dear Jim:

I want to report a Murder!

 I’m telling you about it now because I know my team will try to make it look like an accident. I am assuming that there won’t be an out and out strangulation or a Wedge buried in the back of my head. A loose driver head flying off the shaft or an errant golf cart running me over several times is the most likely course of action. I wouldn’t normally care because, and I quote a friend, “I’m not afraid of death, I just don’t want to be around when it happens.” I want you to know this now as my insurance policy  pays triple if I am killed with friends in a social environment. An accident is only a double and I know the kids will like the extra money. The death will occur about 3.30pm Friday after several holes of the Centennial Tournament.

This may sound extreme but take me seriously. Yesterday I went out to practice. I arrived at the Lob Wedge area and hit balls with a competitor/friend for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t stand it anymore and so I left him there, mindlessly hitting shot after shot.

I went to the range and succeeded in getting all my shots to have the same degree of slice regardless of whether or not they are Woods, Irons or Wedges.

I then went to the putting green and spent so much time with my head  over the ball that there was no blood left in the rest of my body.

This was followed by a drink, shower and and a casual stroll to the parking lot. I then saw  my competitor/friend was just coming in from the Lob Wedge practice area. How am I going to compete with that!

 Looking around I saw many people who had been hitting balls when I arrived and were still in the same spot doing the same thing as I drove out the driveway. To top it all off I got a phone call from a team member who was hitting when I began my practice session at 3pm . He had just returned home and it was dark. How do they do it? After 10 minutes of hitting balls I start to hallucinate.

The final and fatal flaw in my game is that I can’t seem to sink a 4 foot putt. I hit them left, right and never center. A blind man pointed in the general direction of the hole would sink 5-10 putts out of 50 tries. I sank none! I hit them hard, soft, with follow through, punched, sliced and with one eye, both eyes and no eyes waiting to hear the ball in the cup. This is bad. I will have to take a gimmie on any putt under 10 feet and I don’t think the people we are betting with will like that.

I have been withdrawing the maximum cash allowed from my ATM machine every morning for some time now to get a bankroll to pay off our debts after the competition. I would have asked a teller for the full  amount but she probably would have reported me for suspicious activity or money laundering. The last time I asked for this much cash she slipped me a note asking if my family was being held hostage.

So with all this in mind you can see how my team mates will probably be suffering from P. T.S.D by the 7^th or 8^th hole on Friday. As you know this happens when one witnesses horrible and unspeakable  events and  often results in violent behavior.

They know they won’t get punished and with the evidence of my playing presented to the judge they probably won’t even have to attend court.

So there you have it. I am doomed.

The Centennial tournament , my last, begins in three days. I have put your name on some of my old trophies that you admired so much. You can have my name scratched off or put a plaque with your name on it. Enjoy. It has been nice knowing you.

Bill Meder

A silent update

Dear Jim

You probably wonder why you haven’t heard from me for some time.  I have been trying to document my ups and downs but this year I am flat with no progress in either direction.

People are thinking  I am very quiet on the course as I seldom talk or make comments during the round. I fear  the impression I’m giving is that I’m not engaged or don’t care what’s going on. In fact I am talking to myself non-stop. Here was the conversation with myself during the last three holes of the blue course the last time I played.

“Now I’m too hot…last week I was too cold..the week before too rainy. As an outdoor sport this has to rank as the worst. My shorts are sopping wet and my shoes are squeaking. What are we doing playing in the heat of the day?..I’m losing 3 quarts an hour!. We need a cart person driving around the course delivering Gatorade..I may be dead within the hour”

“Ok, I know I said “hit” when ready.  You need to get ready!.. I didn’t mean to come so close to you but really you were never in danger…well maybe a little bit …Ok if it bothers  you when I am 50 yards in front of you waiting for you to hit I’ll move over to the side…no I’m not in a hurry.”

“Damn it this sun tan lotion is running into my mouth and I can’t get rid of the taste. How come I can’t wash it out or spit it out? Who designs this stuff anyway? You can’t wash it off with a scrub brush after the game but it runs down your face like hot syrup on a sundae non-stop for four hours. Why doesn’t someone sell lemon flavored sunscreen?”

“Now I’ve got something in my eye, one of those no-see-um’s flew right in there, got to get it out... Christ, now I’ve got sunscreen in my eye. I’ll just take this water bottle and flush it out. Oops now my shirt is drenched and my eye still hurts. I’ll have to hit the next shot with one eye…”

“Are they breeding these mosquitos with steroids? Where is my bug spray?…empty?..why would I be carrying an empty spray can?..someone must have stolen the last few squirts. I have emptied my entire bag and there isn’t one spot of bug spray..WTF.  I can’t concentrate on this shot with all the buzzing in my ears. Now it’s stopped..it must be biting me. Where the hell is it? Jesus, there must be 50 of them. Back off the shot..idiot!..why did I hit that? “

“I wonder what the Speedo lunch special is today?”

“No, I’m not going in that bush to look for your ball. If you find it you can’t play it anyway and it is possible you won’t get out alive. I’ll pretend that I’m coming over to help you  look for it. I can’t walk much slower than this…Ok good decision…just drop one and lets go.”

“Now what?,. a cramp in my left foot. How the hell does that happen? I’ll walk it off. Now my toes are cramping. Why does everyone else seem so comfortable…I’m dying here. I’m never walking again…single carts are the only way to go “

“If I can birdie these next three holes I’m going to break a 100. What a great drive, my best in two years. Easy second shot over the water... How is it possible that shot went in the water... It was a great swing… Ok, I’ll  play for a boggie…Rats, I hate going in the sand..why did that shot go in the sand? I was aiming 50 yards to the left of the trap.”

“Good Out!..now I have sand all over my legs sticking to my sunscreen except for the sand that went down my socks. I’ll give my shoes a good whack with this sand wedge… Ouch!.. I hit my bloody ankle. Boy does that hurt..I have to take off my shoes and socks and get rid of the sand and all that grass that found it’s way into the inside of my socks.”

“A little par 3 over 10 feet of water..my favorite hole…Yikes, straight in, didn’t even bounce off the bank.. OK, now I’m hitting 3…is there no mercy? What the hell, no one will believe I had an 8 on a par 3 anyway , and besides, an 8 isn’t going to change the enormity of my final score at this point. I hate this place.”

“Almost finished…God this is a long and painful exercise. Who the hell decided on 18 holes? I have been counting since the 11^th wondering if this will ever end.  Oh Boy what a drive…now for my trusty 4 wood.. it’s going straight…Mother McCready ….I’m putting!…wow…a 25 footer…it’s in..SOB, What a game. I love this more than life itself.”

These are  the lively conversations I am having while everyone goes quietly about their business. If I spoke out loud they would know I am crazy so don’t pass this around. I just want to let you know that a lot of stuff is happening and you would be proud of me for  dealing with all of it while  appearing normal. I wish I was a mind reader so I could see what everyone else is saying.

Bill Meder

Dear Jim: Let the games begin

Dear Jim:

Well game one of the season is over. I stepped up to the warm up range and belted out several shots that had one on looker threatening to have my amateur status revoked.

First hole, putting up close for par, second hole more of the same, a couple of bogeys, a par, another par…Now I suppose you think I’m going to say that the wheels fell off etc etc etc. No, that would be totally predictable and I’m not going to insult you with such an obvious breakdown description.

In truth, I played my usual crappy, shitty, ugly, freaking asshole, horrible, moronic, spastic, mind numbing, physically disgusting and embarrassing game with a thundering crescendo at the end that put three balls in the water on 17 Blue for an 8.  Did I mention that it is a par 3! Who knew?

Since last October 11 I have looked forward to this game and prepared for it 5-7 days per week, every week. The good thing about the mental anguish by hole 18 is that my back was aching so badly that I could justify the tears streaming down my face as pain related.

As soon as this sprained wrist heals itself and the golfers elbow on my left arm lets up along with the sharp pains moving down nerves in both legs, I’m going to get busy.

Now it isn’t all-bad. I now can isolate and describe exactly what goes wrong with each shot. Topped it….came up in the back swing. Slice …came over the top. Pop fly to the left woods…stayed on my back foot. Duck hook…came around. Hit it fat….hooded clubface, dug a trench..too steep. etc etc. Now the fact that no shot is predictable and each and every one is viewed with awe by the others in my foursome is not important. What is important is that at the end of the game I have incredible amounts of data to share and what could be more satisfying than that.

Granted, for now it is totally useless information. No one seems to care that I can describe exactly what went wrong in real time. In fact they ignore me and talk among themselves but by the end of the game I can talk for about two hours about my game. I’ve listened by the hour while good golfers in the 19^th hole say, “oh, on the 6th hole I went in with a wedge from 52 yards and had a nine foot putt for eagle. I never say, “you should save that story for someone who might give a damn”. I listen politely and wait for my turn.

Now with the extensive experience I have developed I’m going to be able to give a hole-by-hole description that will bring these single digit handicappers to their knees. I’m going to need a bigger table in the 19^th hole.

With my new found passion I need to organize more games. The last time anyone called me for a golf game was in 1986. In fact I have been noticing that I don’t get many calls for anything anymore. My caller ID is useless. When I look at the display I usually see “Sears Service Center” or some other unidentifiable number that leads me to, a Cruise I’ve just won, discussion.

I have concluded that most of my friends must have phones that only do incoming calls, and that applies to everything, not just golf.   It is puzzling because with all those people playing every day someone is phoning someone to organize the game. No?

Two years ago I arranged with a club member to play every Tuesday. We played the first game and I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. I know he is still a member because his name is in the book. I recently asked a friend who I know would be a good guy to play with if he wanted to arrange a regular game on Tuesday’s. He was very friendly about it but said he was busy Tuesdays… this year! I’m going to keep looking. There are all the “club within a club” gangs that play Wednesday and Fridays but no one will tell me who is in the group or how one gets accepted to play.

In the meantime my regular group has two out of three regular members who can tolerate playing with me and this will allow me to play two days a week.

Sally insists we play with couples on Sundays but no couple has asked us to play with them for 7 years. This means I will probably continue to play Sundays with her alone. You know how I love that as you and I have talked about it several times when you were talking me down from committing suicide. Turns out that Sally feels the same way so we will have to work harder at it. Last year I spent $4000 on guest fees bringing in strangers to make up a foursome but this year I’m going to concentrate on members.

I have a strategy to employ in case things don’t get better. It may involve a physical golf ending injury but I’m going to keep it a secret for now.

Stay tuned.

Bill Meder

I'm baaaack!

Dear Jim:

Well, you probably wonder where I went since I haven’t written for several months.

As you know I successfully weaned myself off golf this year and now I am taking stock of my position. I have lost 20lbs, eat nothing I like, have medical stats that are better than when I was 40, don’t drink, go to bed at 8.30pm, work out every day and don’t have a single ache or pain anywhere. In other words I am perfect …..and… bored out of my mind, not having any fun!

As I contemplated my situation I thought…maybe I gave up on golf too soon.

So last week I grabbed my six iron and headed over to the Dome. I know it is depressing standing on the deck with all the “tractor pull” golf caps and the shouts of "Estie, Tabernouche", but I wear a disguise when I go there. I proceeded to hit balls until my hands couldn’t form a fist. I then rested 24 hours and went back for more. Balls were flying left, right and sideways and I dug several trenches in the artificial turf.

Now I have lower back pain, upper shoulder pain, a knee that feels like it needs replacement, blisters on my hands, golfers elbow on the left arm, a clicking sound in my right arm that sounds like a 1970’s slide presentation when I move it rapidly and  I can barely walk upright.  I have appointments with my Physio, my Chiropractor, my Osteopath, Massage Therapist and a Psychic. New drug prescriptions for pain, muscle relaxants, anxiety and hot and cold compress remedies round out my new arsenal of weapons to restore myself to basic functions.

 In other words, I am right back to how I remember golf and its effect on my well being. And I accomplished all of this with only a 2 hour investment in the game!

 This is good, I’m thinking. I know how to deal with all this stuff and pain is good for you.  I’m giving golf another go and will drop my handicap by at least 10 strokes.

My plan is to forget everything I know about golf and start with a blank piece of paper. I have allocated $10,000 for basic lessons including 3D video analysis and commentary by Nick Faldo.

As soon as I am able to travel, I will head south to make some real progress. I will keep you posted on how I’m doing.  This is the year for golf!

All the best, 

Bill Meder

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