Letters to Jim: Golf at its best

Dear Jim:

I have had many requests for an update on my golf status since my Katrina like experience of last year.  And, no, it didn’t come back. I finished the season hacking and chopping my way around the Black course with a bag over my head, usually playing alone in the late evening. 2007 however is a new game.

January approached with the prospect of golf in Barbados and Florida looming ahead. Jeff was teaching at the Dome in Beaconsfield and with the same effort needed to book a hip replacement I was able to get him committed to fixing me up. A six iron is perfect for the  Dome and for ten weeks, several times a week, Jeff and I and the trusty precision camera, worked, hitting thousands of six irons. I would share the final videos with you but they have been forwarded to Augustine, Florida to the Golf Hall of Fame exhibit where Jeff will be receiving a lifetime achievement award later this fall.

 Perfect doesn’t describe it. From any angle and any criteria these were the finest six irons you could imagine. Here I come ready or not!

I lost 46 balls in Barbados in three games. It seems the six iron is not required on many holes on the Royal Westmoreland Course and my new, new swing doesn’t apply to any other clubs I currently own. We won’t be going back to Barbados for a long long time I’m sad to say as my picture has been posted in the pro shop with  “call 911 if spotted” instructions.

 Armed with my new swing for all clubs other than the six and my new, new swing for my six iron and my old swing that keeps visiting for old times sake I headed off to Florida. It’s not that I don’t like playing in Florida it’s just that we have run out of friends who can/will take us their club. Playing the public links is not that great and after three rounds I shipped my clubs home by Fed Ex in a plain brown wrapping, not wanting to be seen with them during the trip home.

Back to RMCG. After a painful session with most of the staff it was pointed out to me that the Clubs I bought two years ago are clearly intended for “range use only. ”Says so right there in the fine print. Ah Ha says I. New equipment!

This Thursday I hit balls with my driver and every driver in inventory at the club under the watchful eye of Jeff and Paul using the new radar equipped, GPS empowered, super duper measuring device that tells you everything that is happening to your ball. A complete statistical analysis is provided every 5 minutes so you can compute the square root of the clubface and other useful information in real time.  I hit for two hours. Now I don’t know if you have any idea how many drives you can hit in two hours but the last few were hit on my knees with the club firmly clenched between my teeth. I’m still having trouble making a fist two days later.

We picked one that is way better than my old one. I can get an extra 7 yards with the new one if I hit it right on the sweet spot. Cost $ 500. With 20 games this year that’s an extra 140 yards or $ 3.50 per yard. Sounds like it fits my investment criteria so lets go.

Saturday morning, new weapon in hand, one drive out of 14. I’m told, between snickers, to be patient so after they refinish the driver I’m going back at it.

Now to do every club in my bag this is going to take another 28 hours of hitting balls with the machine. I should be totally equipped some time in late August. I will give you the final results which I’m sure will be spectacular. ( Jeff will not be available for lessons in August since he has booked a one month Mediterranean cruise on a private yacht so I have to be finished by then.)

P. S. Recently, I have seen several people at the club with what looks like my new new swing. I discovered that like the decorator who sells the same chandelier to all his clients, Jeff is bootlegging my swing to new customers. I want you to know that I consider this swing Intellectual Property and there could be copy write issues. Consider yourselves warned.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: A speach to a room full of golf nuts.

Dear Jim:

Here is the talk I recently gave at my golf club.

Back in early February, our captain called me to see if I would speak at this dinner. “What could I possibly have to say?” I said, in a desperate scramble to get off the phone. “Why not talk about your love of Golf was the immediate suggestion? Hmm… I hadn’t really thought about love and Golf in the same sentence before.

What have speakers done before me? He said that the previous speakers were all smart guys who skipped several grades in school and spoke without notes for 25 minutes and were hilarious.

 I wondered if David would be impressed that the only reason  I finally  got promoted out of grade 6 was  because I had gotten too big for  the little desks and I  had spent 3 years in Grade 10.

Now, it seems to me that  everything funny that could be said about golf has already been said a gazillion times.

So I decided that I could probably say a few words in a respectful and thoughtful way that paid tribute to all of you and your love of this great game.

OK, how hard could this be I thought?

Sitting with a blank piece of paper in front of me I started out recording the things I like best about Golf.

I like buying golf clothes and I like getting my locker ready in the springtime.

First thing in the morning I really like driving at high speed down Ridge road , blowing past the stop sign at the pool.

 I like getting on my shoes and fiddling with sun tan cream, hats, gloves and all that stuff.

I enjoy walking in to the pro shop for a little banter with the team and taking a couple of hundred tees out of Bob’s secret drawer.

 I like saying hello to everyone around the putting green and hitting a few warm up shots.

Checking in with the starter and finding out who is responsible for the flag flying at half-mast this week is also part of the ritual. 

When I come in from walking 18 holes, I think, taking off your golf shoes is one of the great pleasures of life.

A few peanuts, chit chats in the 19^th hole and off to the showers and fresh as a daisy drive home for a summer dinner on the deck. What a Great Life! Golf is wonderful.

Reviewing my notes I noticed something missing and then it dawned on me.  

I love everything about Golf except the game itself.

Now there is clearly something wrong with me since I know that all of you are absolutely crazy about the game and everything that goes with it.

It is frightening to think that I hate Golf. My wife tells me that I am going to spend the rest of my life having it as my only activity!

After some deep reflection the only explanation I can come up with is that I’m kind of a logical guy and I like things that are easy to understand.  With Golf many many things just make no sense.

I’m talking about questions like these:

How is it possible that after 35 years of golf I still have the same handicap I started with?  Name one other sport where you can not get better no matter how much you practice, how many lessons you take, how much you improve your fitness, and invest thousands in yearly upgrades to technology. It makes no sense.

People who go to Florida and golf all winter come back with the same handicap they left with. People who stay in Montreal and ski every weekend start the season with same handicap they left with. How is that possible?

How is that in any other activity in life, lessons build on each other and you develop a deep understanding of whatever you are trying to do? A golf lesson has a shelf life of about 48 hours before every last shred of new knowledge has completely dissipated. What part of the brain is so screwed up that it handles this particular activity in such an inefficient manner?

I recently completed a one week total immersion golf school in Florida. At the end of the week one third of the instructors committed suicide. The other two thirds were so depressed they couldn’t deal with the dead.

Is there any other sport where the harder you try to hit the ball the shorter the distance it travels?

Why does the way you hit the ball on the practice range before you play bear no relationship to the way you hit the ball in the game? It doesn’t make sense.

The  ball NEVER goes where you want it to go and ALWAYS goes where you  don’t want it to go.  This is ridiculous.

Wouldn’t the law of averages say that a ball that bounces near the green would occasionally go on to the green? Never! How is that possible?

Why does it stop raining as soon as you put on all your rain gear?  Always!

How do the slowest players at the club always get the starting time just before yours? Do they do it deliberately? They must. There is no other explanation.

Why do people shout, “ I never do that” when they just did it? I don’t get it.

I love golf tournaments. How is it possible that your partner always shoots at least 10 shots over his handicap and the team you are playing against has the game of their lives?

Why is it that when you play a bad game you feel terrible for several days but when you play a good game you only feel good for two hours?

How is it that some men can take their wives out for an afternoon golf game and claim to enjoy it?  What could possibly cause so many good people to lie like that?

I can tell you that if there is a lot of this in my future I will be wearing a “do not revive” bracelet and praying that I get  hit by lightening.

If that doesn’t work I suspect firearms will play a significant role in my future.

I know I’m not the only one who feels this way. Goggle “faking your own death” and you will see that all the ads that pop up are related to couples’ golf!

How can so many  grown men with above average IQ’s, hit a golf ball and then start shouting instructions at it? Don’t they realize they are talking to a ball for goodness sakes?

How is that people who are stone deaf in the 19^th hole where you have to repeat every sentence three times before they can hear what you are saying, be standing over their ball 50 yards away and be bothered by your whisper to another player?

These same people are bothered by every little thing. “ Did you hear that noise in the woods? Was it a duck? What’s that smell?

Isn’t it obvious that you, “ hit it fat, hit it thin, hit it in the water, topped it, sliced it, pushed the putt, pulled the putt or whatever?” Why does everyone find it necessary to announce to the group what they just did? We saw you for god’s sake! And further more we don’t care!

And if all that wasn’t enough, there are mean people associated with every aspect of the game. For example, think of the guy building the course. He puts in several acres of sand in a fairway bunker and just as he is leaving he thinks…hmmm I think what this trap needs is a 12 inch lip right here.

Why is it that every day one category of your equipment, but never more than one, is working beautifully, Your irons, your woods, your  putter, are like complete strangers from different cultures. Wouldn’t you think that from time to time they would all respond to the same tempo, swing, weather etc and work the same?

Do you notice that you personalize your equipment? As I’ve gotten older, my driver, for example,  reminds me of my penis. I don’t take it out much any more and when I do get my hands on it…I don’t know..it just doesn’t’ feel the way it used too. I do have fond memories however of when it was my favorite and often think of how much I enjoyed using it.

And don’t even think of using Viagra if that’s what you’re thinking. Viagra lasts a long time in your system. One thing that will throw off your game every time is  the arrival of an unexpected boner!

How ridiculous is the custom equipment craze? First they had radar equipment to test your woods with launch angles and such. Then shaft analysis required you to get new irons. This year it seems that your ball spin needs to be studied so that you get the right spin ratios.

 I’m really looking forward to calling the pro shop and asking to have my balls fitted.

Oh yes. You have to be careful what you say when you are discussing golf. When I came in tonight I said to our grounds keeper that we  wouldn’t be able to play because it was freezing cold and there was still  snow on the course. He replied,” don’t worry, we will be able to play anyway” I said “will we have to paint our balls black?” “ Oh no” he said, “that won’t be necessary, just wear an extra pair of shorts and you will be fine.”

Even on the golf course every word has to be well thought out. When you say to your best friend’s wife “ Bend over, keep your head down and spread your legs a little further apart, loosen your grip a bit and now just slide it gently in to the hole” you had better be sure he knows you are just trying to be helpful.

People who don’t play golf hear all of this and think you  need prompt medical attention.

Of Course, an obvious benefit is that If you are one of those people who really, really, really  like this game, when you become Senile no one will know.

Someone said that Golf is a game that needlessly prolongs the life of some of our most useless citizens. 

At any rate,  isn’t it possible that Golf is God’s idea of a  practical joke?

As I continued to write down my thoughts I couldn’t help but think that I was missing something. All of you can’t be wrong. As I analyzed the excitement I feel about the upcoming season I realized that I can’t think of anything I would rather be doing!

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: Taking the kids to Disneyland

Dear Jim:

The golf season is calling me and I can't promise you I will ever write you about it but I had to tell you about my inspired trip to Disneyland in California with my four-year-old Grand daughter. I picked up some valuable tips that you need to tuck away for the time when you decide to do this most enjoyable, one time only, unforgettable, trip of a lifetime.

First I need to warn you that if you don't really care for kids this is probably not the best choice for a vacation day.

As you know Disneyland is much different than Disneyworld in Orlando. If you live in LA you can do a day trip quite easily. The first thing you will notice is that the highway traffic is bumper to bumper although you will be traveling 80 MPH. When you have no idea where you are going this gives you that little extra shot of adrenalin early in the day that you are going to need…big time.

If you think because you exercise 4 days a week you are in shape to take a four year old to Disneyland for 8 hours in 100 degree heat with a cloudless sky and solid, black asphalt covering every square, unsheltered, centimeter, think again. Unless you are running a marathon every Saturday and can bench press 250 lbs you need help. Initially Sally and I were going to take Georgia alone but a discussion with my daughter resulted in her joining us. We needed all three of us and I would say that that is a good ratio to keep in mind. Actually to really be on the safe side you need 4 adults per four year old.

As Sally and I were preparing to leave, Jennifer told me to be careful that no one grabbed Georgia as kids disappear there all the time. Right…..just hold that thought for 8 hours I say to myself. You remember when I lost Robert in the Fairview Mall when he was four. No panic, I just waited till the Mall was closing and sure enough there he was wandering around having a great time. No biggie…. I didn't even tell his Mother!

Now if you lose a Grandchild it is clear to me that the only response is a dash for the border with the hope that you can buy a new identity from a drug cartel member and disappear forever.

Not being able to find handcuffs small enough or a rope suitable for attaching myself to Georgia I insisted that Jennifer come with us. Good thing as the three of us could barely handle the job.

The first thing you notice at Disneyland is a loud sucking noise as you approach the parking garage. This is not equipment related to fun but a monster vacuum that takes money out of your pocket faster than anything you have ever experienced.

The second thing you notice is a lot of Mexicans. Now you know some of my best friends are Mexicans but I'm sending a letter to congress telling them to stop wasting money on building a fence. If they had buses at the exit to Disneyland, in about three months there wouldn't be an illegal alien left in California.

This crowd is different than Disneyworld where cutting in line might provoke a verbal challenge from a fairly snooty looking North Easterner. The Disneyland  group on the other hand  looks like they would be very,very good in a knife fight. So no cutting in line would be my strong recommendation even if you were able to arm yourself.

Not wanting to be impolite but it seems that the American woman who goes to Disneyland brings new definition to the term " El Grande". Now I 'm looking at all these rides built in the 50's when the average weight of a woman was around 125 lbs. I only saw a couple of women in that range and the rest were pushing 250lbs if I were generous in my estimation. I'm watching the Dumbo ride as the arms of the baskets are groaning and bending under the strain. Mark my words; another couple of years of this and there is going to be a big disaster here. ( For similar reasons ,stay away from the bumper cars!)

The ride ritual goes like this. Thirty minutes of waiting in the sun (feels like 2 hours) and just as you are about to collapse you get a two-minute ride. You will find you are in terror at the end of the ride if your Grandchild liked it because you will be wincing at hearing  the word " again!".

The highlight of the day was waiting one hour to see Snow White and a couple of other babes in what is billed as some" personal time with the princesses". . Now here is an important tip. Apparently attempting to French kiss Snow White will bring security running hard, every time. I didn't see that coming.  I thought they could have spelled out better what personal time meant because after an hour in the sun you really want to connect with the activity. Georgia loved this part and I will send you the pictures of me sitting on Snow White's lap while she told me a story.

Here is another not so obvious tip. I hate sticky hands. Do not, in 100 degree heat or in fact under any circumstances buy your grandchild cotton candy which is eaten with both hands, up to the elbows followed by excessive licking and running of hands through hair, clothes and a special hug for Grandpa. The sticking power of that spun sugar baked in the sun would destroy the makers of super glue if it ever became common knowledge.

At any rate, Jim, it was a fabulous trip…8 hours non-stop, no place to sit down, and although we were on hands and knees  the last 100 yards we got  to the car in one piece and took off for the 2 hour drive through rush hour.  It was worth it. It was so good that I am telling everyone I can think of to do it. Heh Heh…..

Oh yes, I think Georgia liked it because she said I could come back for her 5th birthday if the newly renovated Small World is open.  Otherwise , "stay home!"

All the best,

Letters to Jim: A trip to Florida

Dear Jim:

Well I got back from Florida last night wondering why I had looked forward to going so much.  Despite all the hospitality everyone showed us  there is no question that I’m not  ready for Florida yet. Don’t get me wrong. Some of my best friends are Floridians! I think not being there all the time makes the difference as being a short timer seems to accentuate some of the quirks that  I never hear any of my friends talk about .

Driving is really a hoot. There are cars on the road that you have to stay far far away from. These are cars that appear to be moving along without a driver. Actually  there are little old men behind the wheel. You look for the telltale hairy ears sticking out of  either side of the headrest and that’s the signal to steer clear.

You need to carry a sharp stick in the car. This is so your partner  can stick it in your ribs to wake you up after a five minute traffic light. Waiting at traffic lights is one of the main activities in Florida and explains why people always say  “ I don’t know what I do all day but I’m busy all the time.”

A lot of type A executives end up in Naples. Those that  have recently  retired are roaring around at high speed, turning right on red lights without slowing down and generally can be identified by how close they are driving up the rear of some poor 91 year old. Gradually, they slow down and become like the rest of the population careful not to exceed the 30mph limit…anywhere.

Every morning, you wake up and attach your wife to your hip for the “walk”. You can see the couples by the hundreds. Those who need hip replacements are weaving side to side. The ones using Walkers try to stay to the right. Usually the women are walking just a little bit faster than the man.  The men aren’t saying a word and the wives are babbling on to them about Grandchildren or some shopping extravaganza. I am convinced this daily ritual alone accounts for the high number of assisted suicide requests found in Florida.

And by the way, I’m here to predict that  the Florida custom of never having your spouse leave your sight 7/24 is unlikely to catch on anywhere else.

You keep telling me to buy a place and I finally called a real estate agent for Bonita Bay.

“Hi, I’m looking for a condo in Bonita.”

“Great, what area are you thinking about?”, says the agent.

“The Sanctuary interests me”

“What street would you like to be on?”

“ Memory Lane"

“North or south side of the street?”

“North is good”

“What price range?”

“$500 to $525k tops?”

“How many days are you here?

“5”

“OK, if you can start before 8AM every day for the next 5 days we can show you most of what is available in the Sanctuary  on the North side of Memory Lane in that price range.”

Boy, I don’t know if it  isn’t a little early to be buying but the agent assured me again for the third year in a row that this was the perfect time and she really knows her stuff.

Golf in Florida has some strange features. You spend $ 175k to join a club, $12k per year for dues, $20 for “trail fees” (read golf cart) and when you are finished your round some goof ball is waiting with a dirty rag to wipe your clubs and you give him $2-$3 dollars out of your pocket. Go figure!

 Fortunately my friends all left Florida when I announced my dates so I was only able to organize a couple of games. This saved me tons of money! 

Have fun for the rest of the season in Florida and be careful on the migration drive home.

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: The kids return for another visit

Dear Jim:

The Grandkids have just left and although it was advertised as a quick visit of only 6 days I could pass a lie detector exam claiming it was at least a month.

Now I know that some people think it is terrible to be critical of those little sweeties called Grandchildren especially when they are yours. These people (mostly women I’m afraid) are just plain crazy. There is no other explanation for the oooing and ahahing that goes on during these encounters. This is brutal work for any normal person. At one point, when the door bell rang  I was hoping it was a Home Invasion where the guy would shoot me when I opened the door. I’m experienced at this however and I decided this year to have a plan.

My first brilliant idea was to go tobogganing on a real hill near the house. I can summarize the experience by saying I lost my tobogganing license and have been declared a dangerous offender by my entire family. I shoved my 7 year old in a flying saucer (and I emphasize flying) down a bumpy part of the hill and she flew out of the sled halfway down and landed on her face. Now I think that’s part of the fun. Bleeding nose, scrape on a cheek…what the heck...no one was killed. What’s the big deal? As the sobbing continued I was instructed to send the 4 year old down from the half way point. No way, says I and from the top, lets’ go. I forgot to tell him to hold on and he and the saucer parted company at about 20 MPH over a rather large bump (think jump). He scraped his side pretty good and got snow up his clothes and in all kinds of uncomfortable places. So with two sobbing kids, screaming that Grandpa pushed them, we headed back to the car and home. Wife and daughter didn’t talk to me for two days which was a kind of bonus but I had planned to do this every day of the visit so you can imagine my disappointment.

Skating wasn’t much better. After buying all the equipment I then found out that the 4 year old can’t stand up on skates. This seemed like information that could have been provided in advance.

I made arrangements to get the 7 year old and me a special spot for the Cirque du Soleil show at the Bell Center. We had to dodge the sweat coming from the trapeze artists, we were so close. After the first Act, Georgia informed me that she had a friend at school who could do that! After 20 minutes she told me she wanted to go home and get something to eat. Since she was holding $50 of popcorn, Doritos, jube jubes, chocolate bars and a 60 ounce soft drink I found myself confused. I held on for two more acts and then she insisted on leaving. At least getting out of the parking lot was easy as there was no one else in the entire garage when we left. No one mentioned this outing for the entire visit although I had planned it to be the highlight of the visit.

The kids are fascinated by the cat which doesn’t share the same interest and can’t keep their hands off of it. The cat was last seen climbing the large indoor  tree and hiding under the leaves. Now that the kids are gone the expression “Nervous as a Cat” takes on new meaning as the slightest noise produces a look of fear that could be sold to Disney if I could hold her down long enough to capture it. We may have to replace the Cat!

As my 4 year old watched Scooby Doo he reached over to place a 10 ounce glass of milk on the coffee table without taking his eyes off the TV. He missed the table by six inches and you would be amazed at how much area can be covered by one small glass of milk. He got some on his robe which he whipped off without taking his eyes off the TV and handed it to me and told me to put it in the laundry. Who made the rule that you aren’t allowed to hit kids? My parents would have done 4 rounds with me, bare knuckled, for this. I wasn’t allowed to say anything because I would have interrupted the movie!

As you know we just installed a new kitchen. I was a little nervous by all the activity and toy throwing in the general area. I’m pleased to report that riding a bicycle at high speed in to the island only caused minimal damage and if the painter can match the original colors we will hardly notice. Why was someone riding a bike in the house you ask? Well, he is only 4 years old…what do you expect?

This week (and I’m not making this up) we have a plumber, carpenter, painter and handyman coming in to make temporary repairs. The cleaning lady arrived this morning and announced that she would have to cancel her other clients for the rest of the week.

Time to take them to the airport and I can tell you I had them there 4 hours before flight time. There was no way they were going to miss that flight.

Oh, and I shouldn’t forget to say…I really missed them this morning!

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: A path to happiness

Dear Jim:

Well here it is February with another  year starting to fly by. People keep asking me  how things are and as you know I have had a lot of spare time to contemplate life the past couple of months.

Rather than give you a big long note with

obvious references to death let me sum it up by saying the following.

It is a sad state of affairs to have come to this but it in a moment

of clarity it has become obvious that my future success and happiness

is now totally dependant on the failure of my friends and

acquaintenances. If you know of any real horror shows please share

them with me and put a smile on my face. 

Bill Meder

Letters to Jim: Some safety tips

Dear Jim:

It has been a very interesting winter. My experiences can by expressed with some Safety Tips that I wanted to share with you.

I recently found myself away from home over the weekend on a business trip and was bored. I want to confirm that having your hair cut by a Korean barber watching a football game on the screen in front of you while he cuts your hair with a razor is a very bad idea. It seems that growing out this cut takes many weeks although the bleeding ear seems to heal more quickly.

Asking the security officer to hurry up because you are late for your flight does not produce the results that you would logically expect. This safety tip comes with the added advice that use of the F word (one of my favorites as you know) is not recognized as a motivational expression.

If you forget to get your wife a Valentines Day present an attempt to reuse last years card doesn’t work as well as you might think! I had to deal with a reaction that any man would consider waaaay too dramatic and could in fact result in bodily injury. Who has time to think about Valentines Day anyway?

Don’t say that you can’t see what the big deal is with Tiger Woods when you are in mixed company. All the men know what you mean…none of the women do. Fending off a large number of ladies, foaming at the mouth, is not pretty.

I have an executive who works 14 hours a day complaining that his wife needs more attention. I offered to spend some time with her. Apparently that wasn’t as helpful as you would naturally think it would be.

And finally Jim, when you called me from London yesterday complaining that Air Canada had lost your luggage I thought I gave you a brilliant suggestion. Getting a hooker and staying in your room for 24 hours where you wouldn’t need any clothes was inspired. When the connection was broken I didn’t know if you had hung up on me or forgot to say goodbye in your haste to implement my plan. Let me know…

Bill Meder