… why I won’t be playing Bobby Jones Golf Course again. Ever again.
I have neuropathy in my right foot. Walking a golf course? Any long distance for that matter. Is difficult. 11,000 steps? Nah! No way I’m doin’ that. Let me share the experience I had at Bobby Jones Golf Course here in Atlanta yesterday.
First, checking in … “Sorry, sir. No carts this morning. You’ll have to walk.” Hmm … walking? Not a good start. Not good for my dance card.
Eh, no big deal. Only playing 9 holes
Then this, “The practice area is up there.” He pointed upward to a hill that resembled Mt. Everest.
Adjusting my knee brace, I trudged up the hill. A few huffs and puffs … hit a few balls. I readied myself for the return trip DOWN that “hill.” Zig zagging back and forth to keep from falling.
We headed for the first tee. Our boy from the pro shop directed us, “Head down the driveway all the way to the end and make a right. Keep on going until you see the starter.” Our tee time was 30 minutes away. Curious this guy told us to get going so we wouldn’t miss our tee time. Hmm … 30 minutes? To get to the first tee? “Red” flag.”
Eh, no big deal. Only playing 9 holes
We walked. We walked … and we walked some more. Caught sight of the starter twenty five minutes later. Felt like I’d just walked the Peachtree Road Race marathon … Sweating like a stuck pig, I cried out to this guy, “Hey! You got any ventilators here for us?” He didn’t think I was funny. This wasn’t looking real good.
Eh, no big deal. Only playing 9 holes.
The starter pointed the way. “You see the top of that tree wayyy down there? That’s where the first tee is. There’s no water between here and there, so you might want to each get a bottle for the trip from our cart gal here, Thelma … ??
Thelma had quite a racket. Sold a lot of water. Fully funded her 401k selling to saps like us who were starting their journey to the first tee. Her demonic little smile should have tipped us off.
“Wanna hop on my cart for a ride to #1. Only $10. apiece!” Nah we’re fine. After all …
Eh, no big deal. Only playing 9 holes.
Thought as we walked briskly to #1 … “It’s good Bobby Jones doesn’t charge by the mile.” Well let’s just say, if so? A second mortgage would be in play.”
By now my toes were starting to tingle. The nerves in my feet were looking up at me saying, “Hey you asshole! Walking today? Are you shittin’ me?!”
Eh, no big deal.Only playing 9 holes … Don’t be such a pussy.
We reached the 1st tee. A few deep breaths after the long walk and we were ready. Me? All that sweat of mine? Holding the club felt like trying to grip an baby eel in water. Hit my first shot 15 ft … dead sideways. Finished the 1st hole. I had a sweet “quadruple” to start my round.
Eh, no big deal. Only playing 9 holes.
“Where’s the next tee?” You ever tried to walk from Atlanta to Birmingham? Of course nor. This stroll was close. By now I’m a total human sweat ball. And we’d just finished our first hole! Pissed about my “quad” on #1, I was working on a major bad attitude. My feet screamed at me again, “You asshole!”
Now the layout at Bobby Jones GC is unusual. Tee boxes are long and wide. No tee markers. Calls for the wilderness instincts of “Lewis and Clark” to know where to hit your tee shot.
But the true theme for this day was, “How to ‘fry’ a pedometer in one easy lesson.” Took us 3.5 hrs to play 9. Normally takes less than 1.5 But this wasn’t about a game of golf. It was more like trekking the Iditarod … without sled dogs to pull you along.
By the 3rd hole my feet felt like they belonged to someone else. Couldn’t feel either one of them. My partners putts were longer than my drives. My self image was collapsing … fast.
Welcome to the wonderful game of golf … Bobby Jones style. Mr. Jones must have been rolling in his grave. At this point … l was thinking of joining him.
Thelma drove up on #6. “Can I get anything for you, sir?” Sure, I said, “Have you got a spare oxygen tent?” She didn’t crack a smile. She’d heard this reply before.
Finally reached the 9th green. Finally! The round was over. Hadn’t lost a ball! But then my longest shot of the day had been 37 yards.
The last straw? “Where’s the clubhouse? How do we get to our car?” You guessed it … UP THE HILL!! One more time.
I took my first step up that last, final hill. Have you ever seen an elephant struggling to get to the burial ground? Ten pounds lighter, foaming at the mouth …. Saw a few human remains along the way. Wondered who I might ask to deliver my eulogy if I expired here.
Reached the top of the hill and stopped … looked to the heavens. Thanking God for deliverance. I had gone from the Alex Guinness’s “box” in the “The Bridge Over the River Quay” to Sir Edmund Hillary’s flag planting on Everest. Victorious!! … Scooore!! 11,000 steps later!
Bobby Jones had presented me with the ultimate challenge. And I’ll always remember what my feet said to me as I climbed in my car to leave …
“Thank God you weren’t a dumb enough asshole to think you could play 18! … “