Tales of the Midwest: A Little Jog in the Moonlight
Thieves respect property. They merely wish the property to become their property that they may more perfectly respect it.
~ G.K. Chesterton
I’d like to fast-forward a few years and revisit the subject of golf for a moment. In the Midwest, the sport tends to have quite a bit less of that refined Eastern attitude. For example, not only is there more of an expectation that golfers will urinate as much as possible all over the course, but because of the relatively flat land there, there’s also unfortunately significantly less in the way of hills and other natural landscaping to hide everyone doing so.
I knew this one guy, let’s call him Rob (because he looked a little like Robert Downey Jr.). He was a true hick redneck if there ever was one: blasting loud heavy metal at all times, speeding around in his hot rod, swilling Busch beer as though it were nectar, donning an Ozzy t-shirt at least three days a week, and topped off with wolfish eyes and a devious underbite. All that, and the guy could golf. Once I watched him tee up a golf ball and drive it perfectly into an extremely crowded parking lot. Miraculously, it hit no cars.
