Given the stereotype of bloggers as basement-dwelling cave fish, you might be surprised to learn that a goodly number of us emerged, blinking, into the light for an afternoon of golf Friday at Valleywood Golf Course in Apple Valley. The event was the second annual Millard Fillmore Open Championship (which goes by an abbreviation that I won’t use here to avoid attracting the porn-crazed), hosted by Learned Foot.
When you realize that golf is nearly “blog” spelled backwards, however, our interest in the grand sport is more logical. Actually, perhaps “golb” is a better description of the game my threesome played. There are good reasons, for example, why I am known to the golfing Jedi as “O.B. Juan”. My teammates, Triple-A and Surly Dave, meanwhile, can be compared to Jack Nicklaus (as in Bobby Jones saying of Nicklaus, “He plays a game with which I am not familiar.”) Triple-A’s readers won’t be surprised to learn that his tee-shots veer strongly to the right. Dave’s political leanings are harder to discern from his golf game since he seemed to favor left and right equally. His performance around water hazards, however, could be described as “Kennedy-esque”, so we may have to keep an eye on him.
Despite our adventures, we found ourselves on most holes waiting for the walking two-some in front of us to move out of range (vertically and laterally). Nevertheless, somebody two or three groups behind us called the clubhouse to complain about slow play and the ranger paid us a visit. The ranger thought it was somebody two groups behind us who had complained, which would mean it was Foot’s group, and it was Foot, therefore, that Triple-A assigned the blame. Up to that point Triple-A had been content to write the initials of the golf tournament into every sandtrap he encountered; now angered, at the next tee-box he used the seed/fertilizer mixture provided for filling divots to pour out a rude message for LF. And it was perfectly spelled.
I didn’t see enough of anyone else’s game to offer a comment, but I will note that Nihilist-in-
Golf-Short-Pants showed up at the course wearing the same outfit as I: navy blue shorts and a white golf shirt. It was hard to tell us apart at a glance; the telling clue was that he was the one wearing dark socks. Meanwhile Bogus Doug, looking for a hobby to replace blogging, showed up looking like a contender for “Whitest Person in America”, but as he forgot his sunblock, was well out of the running by the 18th hole.
Afterwards we caravaned over to Foot’s house for German and Italian sausages and fireworks. Like Foot’s blog, the evening was explosive, highlighted by shrieking outbursts, fiery retorts (and reports), dramatic fizzles and nervous neighbors. Oh, and of course, there were the fireworks, too.
I can’t wait for next year!