Two both famous and infamous golfers known for their tempers and club throwing exploits on
golf course, were battling head to head and coming into final round of tournament. The entire golfing world was looking on. As two greats made one bad shot after another, they all too often followed them up by throwing their clubs. Some of these clubs ended up in lake or against a tree. As they were preparing for final round, one of them was asked whom he thought was going to “lose”. “That’s easy,” he said, “the guy that runs out of clubs first.”Everyone that plays this game has been tempted to make their own entry into club toss championship, and all too many of us have given in to that temptation. But I can’t believe how many clubs I have broken by pure accident (yeah right)!
The first really expensive golf club I ever bought was a custom made driver by one of great master club makers in Carmel, California, home of Pebble Beach. I spent a couple of days of my vacation being fitted and for three weeks waited anxiously for my new club to arrive in mail. Man was it great! I was just pounding ball to deepest depths of driving range and just couldn’t wait for Saturday to get here so I could unleash this beauty in real action.
Finally, day had arrived. I was loading my gear and changing my shoes, and one of my buddies came by and asked about new club I was bragging about. I pulled it from my bag and handed it to him to check out. I walked around my car to make final check to see that all doors were locked. I shouldered my bag and slammed trunk of my car. At time it sounded a little weird, but I was anxious to get started so I didn’t bother to look.
When our names were called to first tee, I was ready! I reached for my hot new driver; just knowing it was going to be a great day… it wasn’t there. My knees quivered, I had to choke back a blood-curdling scream and nearly fell to ground in a fit of rage as I remembered that funny sound I heard when I slammed my trunk just a few minutes ago.
Then there was time I had a shot that had to get up fast and carry a bit farther then I usually hit my 60-degree. I was under a tree but had no overhanging limbs. I could have a Tiger-like go at it. Big mistake. I wound up like I was John Daly, figuring I needed that extra long swing that only Big John can deliver, and swung with all my might. Tree root! Damn! I jarred every bone in my body. It was three holes later when I finally got my eyes back in right sockets and discovered I had bent my steel shafted wedge. Not to worry, just a little pressure over knee here and we can… Snap! Okay, so now I have a really short-shafted wedge for really tight back swings.
