This past weekend, I was standing up in my friend’s wedding, so I was required to be on point at all times. After the rehearsal-dinner-turned-shitripper-that-lasted-until-4-in-the-morning, we somehow found ourselves teeing off at 6:30 a.m. on the morning of the wedding. Thankfully, my wedding date woke me up in time to get on the course. Forgetting my phone and being hungover as all hell, my mental state was less than desirable. At one point I even had to ask my buddy Tube Socks how we got to the course, if that tells you how the night before went. After picking up on #5, the other guys in our group caught me lying down next to the cart mid-existential crisis. My thoughts throughout the round? They were raw.
Who made this fucking early tee time?
How early is too early for a beer and/or tobacco product? Asking for me.
This cart girl better be hot.
The chances I’ll sink any putts over ten feet today are at about zero.
I’m definitely going to set the course record for number of double-handed face wipes today.
Seriously, where is this cart girl?
I want to scramble but I don’t want to be the pussy that pitches that we scramble.
Oh, God. Did we just pass the bathroom on that last hole? Probably not going to see one for another four holes. This is gonna be bad.
I have yet to leave any putts short today. On the flip side, I have yet to leave any putts within six feet of the hole.
I wonder how bad I smelled in the pro shop earlier. It had to have been a severe combination of vodka, sweat, and Labatt Blue Light.
Alright, yeah, let’s just scramble, guys.
Did I forget my phone, or did it fall out of the cart? I honestly have no idea.
Jeez, Will. Do you seriously not have your golf shoes on right now? You’ve been wearing loafers for the past five holes. Clean it up.
Will anyone care if I just go barefoot? I have blisters on the back of my foot from that dance floor last night.
Where. The. Hell. Is. This. Cart. Girl?
Finally, #9. What should I order? Pete just ordered four Miller Lites and a cheeseburger. It’s 8 in the morning.
I can’t tee off anymore. I’m just going to drop next to Tube Socks for the foreseeable future.
I just really wish I had my phone on me right now. I need a soothing playlist and to text my date, “Do you hate me?”
Who am I kidding? She’s probably already packed up and moved out of the cottage we rented.
Is Pete really shooting 4-over right now? I had a snowman on #6.
How can this fairway be so big and I still somehow wreck the ball out of bounds every single time?
I’m never drinking again. My friends are savages and it would probably be responsible for all of us to never talk to each other again.
The pro was definitely lying to us when he said that there’s a cart girl out here. Thankfully we bought all those beers at the turn.
Who am I kidding? I can’t even drink these beers. I opened this beer a half hour ago and it’s still full enough to spill out of the top when the cart moves.
Finally, #15. This is the home stretch.
My golf muscles are so sore. I’m either wildly out-of-shape or just flat out dehydrated.
Who am I kidding? I’m both. Figure it out, Will.
Is it ridiculous to let these guys behind us play through so I can take a quick power nap in the bathroom?
Where the hell is my lob wedge? I refuse to back track and find it next to whatever green I used it next to last.
How does John Daly do it? This is so awful.
Oh, great. A huge body of water on #18. I definitely won’t loose at least a sleeve of balls on this.
Wow, best drive of the day. I’ll take it.
Did I seriously just get it over the water in two to putt for birdie? The golf gods are fickle beasts, man.
Don’t leave this putt short. Don’t leave this putt short. Don’t leave this putt short.
Cannot believe I just birdied #18 after being somewhere in the range of 20-over to 100-over during this round.
Holes like that are what keep you coming back. Now let’s go get some cocktails in the clubhouse. This hangover isn’t going to cure itself..