Andy North, two time US Open winner, was doing commentary during a golf tournament at Settindown Creek. Where I play most Saturdays. Tough track. Raining. 42 degrees. Andy caught my eye and motioned me to come over and see him on his cart.
“Hey, do you really do this every Saturday?” “Yes. With my crazy golf nut buddies every Saturday.” North looked at me in amazement.

Listen and you’ll usually hear …“Ahhh … I hit it one screw down!”“Finish!” “You #$@&%*!! idiot!”“Oh, Bobby! My elbow was out!” “Watch out! The Cobra is ready to strike!” This!? Every Saturday! Really?! Call my shrink please.

It’s just another day at Settindown. Golf, golf and more golf. I’d be better off “playing” in a sandbox than trying to hit a 7 iron 90 yards. Been playing with the same lunatics, all who admittedly are better players than me. At least I play to a truthful handicap. 20 on a good day.

Jokes and jabs … good shots, more bad shots? We play “on our own terms.” Mulligans (reloads after a miss);  teeing it up in the rough; 5 foot putts? “That’s good.” You get the picture.

Most Saturdays. Ed’s breakfast eggs at better be soft or it’s going to be a long day. Care less about each other’s game than our own. Love our cart girl. One of us insanely so! We flare at each other. Triggered usually by an unsolicited tip … “You came out of it.” “Too quick!” “Restrict your turn.” Normal reply? “Mmmm!” (Inside joke) Or even the occasional “f you.” We have nicknames. The Silver Cobra. Ruthlessly injects his venom with an amazing, well struck shot. The Bear. Never hit a good shot in his life. The Rattler. Has scheduled over 1,000 tee times for us. The Radio. Endless chatter. Usually right when you’re taking your back swing. “Mmmm!” (You really want to know what this means don’t you. Hint: M stands for “miserable”) The Tarantula. “I’m going to the lake this weekend.” Cameo performances only. They call me Ox. I’m the “You #$@&%*!! idiot!” guy above.

Like any team, we’ve made some “cuts” over the years. Billy (Never missed a 12 footer) Mitchell; Bill (“I wish I was playing the horses!”) Loch. Leo (had to turn your head when he swung, lest you might copy part of it!) Corley.We play fast. Usually held up by a slower group ahead of us. “They are just a’holes from downtown.” Of course, those a’holes  mumble as we hit into them. “Look at those a’holes behind us from Settindown.” The Hatfield’s and the McCoys. Get it?

33 degree weather? No problem. The Bear plays in a strap tee. Never in the rain. Good golf etiquette? Ha! Lost balls? Well let’s just say we’ve been responsible all the growth in Callaway stock over 20 years. In this age of the disposable. Plastic bottles, electronics … marriages! Not many things last a few days! Our friendship? 25 years. A few years ago I couldn’t play. Bad back. Despite not playing for all those Saturdays … I drove 35 minutes up … 35 home, just to have breakfast with the guys. This all started with golf. It will end someday with golf. But our friendships, our care and respect for each other will endure. This has always been about the relationships, dare I say we might even love each other a little. Shhh! Real men don’t say that.

So we play on … despite all the “tops”, “duck hooks”, over cooked eggs, and “#$@&%*!!”s I must actually love this. Why else would I do this every Saturday …