On September 7th, my
workplace decided to hold a company golf tournament. Normally I
wouldn't even give this idea a second thought; I'm not a golfer, I'm
a snowboarder, so the idea of playing a round of golf just isn't
appealing to me. It didn't take long however, to be convinced that
this could be a good time. After all, we were taking over the entire
golf course which meant we could bring beer. That's when I realized
the appeal of golf is neither in the satisfaction of sinking that
long distance putt, nor the appreciation of this eminently
frustrating game, its appeal is in the socializing
and my back pack full of tall-boys was a clear indication that I was
in the mood to be merry.
There were about fifty people signed up
for this golf tournament, divided up into teams of five playing
scramble (i.e. everyone on the team takes a shot and the best ball is
used as the spot from which the next shot is taken). Upon discovery
that I could count the number of times I've played golf on the
fingers of one hand, it was decided that I needed some additional
motivation to play well. So the deal was as follows: every time my
shot was not the best one, I had to do ten push ups. The corollary
however, was that if my shot WAS the best one, everyone else
had to do ten push ups (thus the motivation... sticking it to my
co-workers). Needless to say, I was expecting to do a lot of push
ups which was fine by me, it just meant that I was getting drunk AND
getting buff at the same time (I love multi-tasking).
I was already one Moosehead into the
tournament before we hit the first hole. It seemed that this was
becoming a drinking contest as well as a golf tournament. As
expected, I was doing push ups early and often -- the Happy Gilmore
driving technique didn't help me one bit. By the time we got to the
9th hole, I had done roughly 270 push ups and lost count
of the number of beers I had consumed. My director's team was
already finished so he decided to come and see how I was doing
“Pretty crappy” I said wanting to get this over with. I did my
push ups before teeing up my ball and said “watch this.” As it
turns out, this was a tactical mistake as my shot made it all the way
to the green; I believe my exact words when I hit the ball were “Holy
shi*t!”. This being the only shot my director had seen me hit, he
immediately assumed that I was trying to shark my team-mates. This
belief was short lived however, once they told him how many push ups
I had done; all presumptions vanished.
This golf tournament (drinking contest)
turned out to be much more fun than I had anticipated. I got to make
an ass out of myself in front of my co-workers without catching to
much hell. Plus in the process I learned a few things about golf:
-
Having a mohawk on a golf course
is like being a walking freak show in spite of the gaudy golf
outfits.
-
Make sure you're team-mates pay
what they owe. I don't think mine ever did their ten push ups on
the ninth hole.
-
I can't play much more than nine
holes of golf or else I'll pass out from the alcohol (Tiger Woods
must have one hell of a liver).
-
Golf is a lot like dating, the
goal is to get to the hole in the least number of strokes.
Ironically, much as in real life, the more beer I drink the better I
seem to be at it.
So that, in a nutshell, was my recent
golfing experience. Although it was fun, I think I've philosophized
quite enough about sports involving rolling greens, open bodies of
water and sand pits. Bring on the snow, it's time to dress up to
'git down: butter, booter and jib. So if you don't see me on the
links, look for me on the slopes. Until next time,
Keep Shreddin' the GNAR!
J
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