Golf

Stephen Harris
The Southern Voice
Published in
3 min readJun 27, 2024

Who said there’s no good in alcohol? Only a couple of Scottish men full of many pints could dream up the wonderful game of golf. It’s right up there with other major beer-soaked inventions such as lawn darts, slip and slides, and bowling. If you develop a sport in which men can get soused while measuring their manliness, it will be a sure-fire winner. Even if you apply rules that no one understands and equipment that empties their bank accounts.

Now, looking back to my introduction of chasing white balls, it is clear that my buddies wanted to have a great deal of fun at my expense. When country comes to town, there are lessons to be learned.

“Sir,” the stiff, upper-lipped course employee said, “Our course rules don’t allow you to play without a collared shirt.” This Southerner thought that his pink T-shirt was the height of fashion. Little did I know.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I replied, figuring my friends were setting me up for a joke.

“No,” the young man lectured. “The Club is very serious about the dress code.”

“And you were very serious about charging me six bucks a beer before revealing this fashion fax Paus.”

“We do have a nice selection of golf shirts in the pro shop if you’d like to purchase one,” he so seriously advised. It certainly gave me the feeling that I’d been marked as undesirable. Funny how that suddenly made me want to play the game. Every organization needs a little cur dog in its mix to strengthen the bloodline. This man needed to show these blue bloods a thing or two.

“Just buy a shirt and let’s play,” my friend Bill groused.

“Yeah,” Gary joined in. “We haven’t got all day. Hurry up.”

“Alright, alright,” I replied. Suspicion should have lurked in the back of my mind. They were acting too nice and not insulting me in their normal manner.

“Y’all have lost your minds,” this man bellowed after seeing the price tag. “No way I’m paying a hundred bucks for a shirt.”

“That’s the cheapest one we have,” the salesman said. Now it was clear to me I was being given the bum’s rush. In other words, being pushed toward the door of never return. The old Marine always said leave an impression whether good or bad. Never be bland. Great advice which I intended to follow.

“Give me your keys,” I said, turning to Gary.

“For what?” he asked, his eyebrows furling.

“Cause you drove us here, and I know you have a white starched dress shirt in your car.”

“You’ll look ridiculous…”

“Do you think I care?”

“Better give him the shirt, Gary,” Bill said, his head shaking. “He’s wearing that ‘I’m about to kick the door off the outhouse, “look.”

“Should have known better than to invite you,” he said, turning over the keys.

“Heck, you should have to work with him,” Bill chimed. “He’s barely civilized…ask his wife.”

“You look like a homeless person,” Gary commented on the first tee.

“Starting a new fashion trend,” I replied while adjusting a shirt two sizes large for me.

“Just try to hit the ball while holding onto the club,” Bill demanded after a few of my practice swings dug deep furrows in the sod. “You’ll get us thrown out of here for sure.”

Stepping up to the tee box, it was now my time to shine. What these goober friends of mine didn’t know was this man had been sneaking off to the driving range and practicing. I was going to show them a thing or two about this game. With all my might, I drew the club back and cut loose with a mighty swing.

This country boy learned many things that day. Whacking balls on the range is a lot different than playing the course. A gallon of amber aiming fluid doesn’t help your game, and six-dollar beers add up very quickly. Other golfers don’t appreciate your wild shots whistling through their tee box at the speed of sound. Nor do your buddies like you walking between them and the cup while they are putting. A golf ball will break the skylight of a home, but your homeowner's insurance will cover the damage. Insurance companies don’t like to pay out, and when they do, they’ll raise your rates to cover their losses. And golf is a wonderful game full of insults, companionship, lunacy, cheating, honor, and addiction. Can’t wait to play with the grandsons and teach them a thing or two about being cur dogs at a country club.

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Stephen Harris
The Southern Voice

Stephen loves to write humorous stories of his beloved South which you can view on The Southern Voice. Also the author of Where the Cotton Once Grew.