The Beginning and End of My Golf Career

I was the ninth man on our eight man high school golf team.

I had 5 clubs, none matching, in my K-Mart golf bag that was strapped with bungee cords to a water hose cart.  Two wood, 4 iron, 6 iron, 9 iron, putter. 

There was a flu outbreak and several of the players were sick.  The coach calls me out of class and tells me I'm leaving early with the team to play in a match that afternoon.

I was nervous enough on the way to the course.  Then in the parking lot, I determine that we are playing against Woodward Academy, THE prep school in Atlanta and the perennial state champs in golf. 

As they unloaded their matching embroidered golf bags from their fancy cars, I wanted to go home.  Or puke.  Or both. 

As I pulled the blue and yellow hose cart out of  Mom's trunk, I heard the first laughter of the day.  It wasn't about to end there.

The first hole was a par three, 150 yards, elevated tee.

After the pretty boys in their matching shirts nutted a couple of shots on the green, it was my turn. 

I selected my trusty 4 iron.  Teed the ball.  Then teed it again when it fell off.  Then tried to breathe and couldn't. 

I addressed the ball, closed my eyes, and swung. 

I opened my eyes as the laughter erupted from the opposing players, my teammates, and both coaches.  One small problem.  "Hey, did you guys happen to see where my shot went?"

They pointed directly behind me.  I had heeled my range ball between my legs.  My ball was in the bunker next to the eighteenth green. 

The round went downhill from there.