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“It’s about 312 yards from the blue tees. Big dogleg left with bunkers surrounding the green. There’s water if you go too far left, so be careful.” The morning Starter gives his rundown of the first hole, but the foursome was too busy taking practice swings and laughing about the night before to listen. They all pull drivers out of their bags.
Assembling A Foursome
Michael found a fantastic deal on GolfNow late Thursday afternoon, and he immediately shared it with his group text.
Michael: River Crest 32 dollars on Saturday. 8:07 tee time.
Naturally, no one responds right away. Devoting 5+ hours to an activity on a Saturday, 7 if you’re talked into going to Hooters afterwards, is difficult for the modern man. There’s just too many activities, and not enough hours in the day. James, the former Saturday muni golf circuit stalwart, has been seeing the same girl for close to a month now, and it’s getting pretty serious. Serious enough that he’s basically locked in for dinner and drinks with her awful friends every Saturday from now through eternity. He’s out. You know he’d love to play, but the last time he tried to squeeze in 18 before going out with his old lady he showed up sunburned, drunk, and still in his soiled Nike Dri-FIT.
That’s a big loss. James is well liked, and if he’s out, others will be, too. At that moment, when hope was all but lost, Michael’s iPhone 5 vibrates. It’s Todd. Nice.
Todd: In. May have to duck out after 15 for my niece’s bday party tho.
2 down, 2 to go. A full foursome is required to receive the somewhat affordable green fee, and there’s no way in hell Michael can justify paying the standard 58 dollar rate. That’s larceny. Michael begins contemplating other options as he waits for the final member of his group text, Griffin, to respond. He knows it’s a reach, but he contemplates reaching out to Derek, the highly controversial, yet excellent golfer that everyone secretly hates. Derek plays a natural high draw despite only having about a year’s worth of golf experience under his lame white golf belt. Before Michael finishes typing the desperation text, he remembers that Jackson’s wedding is this weekend, and many, including Derek would be in attendance.
Michael was not invited to Jackson’s wedding. He experiences both FOMO and relief at the same time. Very rare. Maybe he’ll meet up with everyone at the bars after the reception. Ugh, that’s a try-hard move.
At that moment, Griffin chimed in.
Griffin: In. Gonna try to hit some balls tonight if you wanna roll.
3 out of 4. Things are trending up for Michael. He completely ignores the offer to hit balls with Griffin because he knows he’ll just end up being too sore to play well on Saturday. It’s imperative that Michael maintains his flexibility. It’s also imperative that the group finds a fourth, otherwise they’ll risk being paired with a random dude, and we all know that’s the worst thing that can happen at the golf course. Michael leans his head back in his chair and really begins to think. He’s grasping for straws at this point.
Suddenly, another message appears on Michael’s phone. It’s Todd. Todd is known for screenshotting random babes on Instagram and sending them out to the group with accompanying texts that say, “Dat Ass” or “Would.”
Todd: I can ask Jason if we still need a 4th.
Worst. Case. Scenario. Jason, as you may have guessed, is the worst. First, he’s a terrible golfer, but he’s not completely aware of that fact. He looks for every lost ball, and he lacks the decency to pick up when he’s 10 strokes deep on a hole. It’s maddening. Secondly, Jason is a sloppy drunk. He’ll yell at anyone that violates his own golf course code of ethics which is basically “Stay the fuck off Jason’s hole.” The guy’s a real wildcard, and a marshall’s worst nightmare. At the end of the day, beggars can’t be choosers, so Jason will have to do.
Saturday Morning 7:10 a.m.
Every member of 8:07 tee time went out hard last night. It seems that any incentive to take it easy, rest, or just not max the fuck out was completely disregarded by the group. For this group, being coordinated and arriving to the course early enough to warm up was of little importance. No sense in giving up a Friday evening consisting of overpriced dinners, house margs, and the failed pursuit of members of the opposite sex just for a decent round of golf.
Michael, being the most responsible of the 4, wakes up with enough time to pick up taquitos from a nearby Whataburger. Bacon, egg and cheese. Two of them. While sitting in the parking lot, he loads them down with salsa verde and slides them down his gullet. He has enough time to chip and putt before the round, but those coveted minutes will be spent in the gentleman’s room.
Todd is the next to arrive. He’s in surprisingly decent shape all things considered. As he confidently walks into the pro shop to check in, the head pro shoots Todd a look that says, “You smell like a bar mat after a Ray Wiley Hubbard show.” Todd purchases a box of ProV1s that will surely allow him to post a low number.
No one has heard from Jason.
Griffin arrives at exactly 8:07. Some call this pulling a Rory, others just call it shitty. Either way, Griffin is struggling to slide his very flashy Nike Lunar golf shoes on without untying the laces. Untying, then retying, would just be too much for him to handle at this point. Any act that requires the slightest bending at the hips could trigger catastrophic dry heaves before the round has even started. Things are looking good.
Still no word from Jason. He could be sleeping, sick, or face down in a drained pool somewhere.
Because the group was unable to complete a full foursome, all members were forced to pay the exorbitant weekend rate. The lowly threesome watched a group of four elderly men, two of which had push carts, tee off directly in front of them. While waiting for their turn, each member began a series of pointless stretches, twists, and half-swings in an effort to loosen up their core muscles.
After dismissing the morning starter’s warning, all three pull driver. It’s time to let the big dog eat. Michael, feeling somewhat confident enough to make a respectable swing, teed up first. Just as Michael’s futile pre-shot routine ended, the group is startled by the sound of an approaching golf cart. It’s a random.
“You mind if I join you?”
Fuck..
Image via Shutterstock
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Dave
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I feel like JayTas is the Jason of his group.
JayTas is the random 4th.
JayTas is the diarrhea you get on Hole 4
Jason just never fucking understands the consequences of his actions.
+1 for Ray Wylie reference.
I was that random the other week on a par 3 10th hole. I met up with 3 senior fellas that were playing behind me and I was solo. I was last to go and I sliced the fuck out of the ball with my 8-iron and came very close to taking out one of the guys out that was standing almost directly to the right of the tee box.
gotta close that club face up…
fuck.
Griffin seems like the, “Anybody got a ball?” type.
312 from the blues? So they’re playing a course for kids and/or fags?
I bet you hit your driver like 320, 325 average, right brah?
I think he’s saying with even a 200 yard drive into the rough, you have an approach shot of just over 100. Even with a shitty approach into the rough again, you can chip it and putt for a shitty par.
He probably only play courses with 300 yard par 4s tops because he only drives 200
You definitely have a hybrid 3 in the bag.
Yeah, and you definitely play top flites because you’re in the woods every other shot