After many years of hard work, sweat and toil, achieving the lofty status of a beer reviewer can sometimes go to your head. Whenever I am in need of humbling, (outside of the home of course where it happens regularly), a golf tournament more than delivers.
We had determined previously that one of the keys to success *is knowing what you suck at, and one thing I do know I suck at, without pause, doubt, or hesitation, is golf. To make matters worse I played a tournament the other day with good players, whose audible grimaces followed my every drive. The pity was apropos for a pitiful performance. I was hacking and slashing my way down the course like a slipshod sailor tacking against a heavy headwind. Between magnetic water hazards, quicksand bunkers, corduroy road wide and rough fairways, and the postage stamp size greens, all I could really do was hope I had enough balls to complete the course (you can take that any way you want) and look forward to the 19th hole of fame and fable, where my best round of golf is waiting.
The only birdies on the course when I am playing are those godawful Canada Geese crapping all over the fairway, which is what you could say about my golf game, if I ever hit the fairway that is. Someone with good intentions and poor judgement, a combination found far too frequently these days, said I should just let my clubs do the work. However, it appears my clubs are unionized and on a work to rule campaign, their primary complaint being that their manager doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, another situation found far too frequently these days as well.
It was a few years ago that JJ pointed out to me that my main problem with my golf game was my LOFT! That didn’t make sense to me since I got the ball in the air, just not very far or in the direction I wanted it to go. Once it was clarified the acronym’s meaning was “Lack Of Fucking Talent” that certainly made sense.
When I recounted my trials, travails, and tribulations to the Department of Morality, her ear was less than sympathetic and the rest of her followed suit. Her first question was “How many beers did you have on the course?” A rather personal question but let me assure you the number of beers I had is in no way causal, correlative, or coincidental to my lack of prowess on the links. That being said, it was hot, and all that hacking and slashing through the long grass like a farmhand with a scythe at harvest time was thirsty work. So it was important to hydrate.
One good thing about a golf tournament, is it is a great excuse to do some day drinking. It may not be 5 o’clock anywhere, but when the horn sounds that shotgun start, nobody is drinking alone. Now all that being said the beer cart did not have what I would call a wide selection of interesting and unique brews from which to choose. So what caught my eye? None other than that tall, skinny can of Michelob Ultra. After all you need to watch your carbs and calories to maintain the kind of athletic physique and form required to drive that ball dozens of yards in order to eventually reach the water hazards.
I am sure I will continue to subject myself to humiliation, ridicule and derisiveness in the future, mainly at home from telling Grand-Dad jokes to the grand-kids, but also from golf. At least when I am golfing I get to quaff a cold one. For some of us it seems like hydration and humiliation go hand in hand.
*Editor’s Comment: You continue to look for the keys to success but I believe in your case it’s a combination lock.
I pick up “Roy Slack” Monogrammed golf balls on courses throughout the region….hmmm I think the fact that I’m in these places searching for my balls says I may very well struggle with LOFT myself!
Busting my balls again, eh Melong. Well, welcome to the LOFT club.
I found my new saying “on course”…”when the horn sounds…no one is drinking alone”, I’m inspired!!!!
Scott, you being inspired has inspired us to be more inspiring, rather than just retiring on our way to expiring.
I was recently referred to as “the anchor” of the team. A compliment?
Nope.