This week, I’ve decided to write about the extremely dangerous topic of golf partners. It’s not quite as dangerous as, say, attempting nuclear fission in your basement, but it comes really close.
That’s because getting paired up with the right “foursome” on the first tee can turn your round into either an uplifting experience of human interaction or a hideous mistake that will leave you shattered, shaking and uttering annoying whines, like the bagpipes.
A friend called yesterday to invite me to play at the new Chambers Bay golf course with two other golfers who I don’t know. I wondered how I rank as a partner.
Over the years I have been paired up with some rather scary playing partners myself, including one fellow who encompassed approximately the same landmass as New Jersey and had apparently visited every tattoo parlor located there. I’m pretty sure he carried a shotgun between his 5-iron and 6-iron. I was very nice to him and he let me live.
Every golfer dreads the day the starter pairs them up with someone carrying a large bag with a small collection of unmatched clubs, and 600 balls that you know won’t be nearly enough. Partners like that do not know that the whole point of weekend golf is to hit the ball as few times as possible, so you can quickly get back to the clubhouse and start drinking beer.
If you’re playing with a partner who hits the ball in random directions on courses lined with expensive homes, it’s proper golfing etiquette to ask the course marshal to verify that your partner has the appropriate level of liability insurance.
Sometimes a bad partner will swing ferociously and the ball will not move. Instead of a finely manicured patch of grass, the area around the ball will look like the path of a tiny tornado. Other times, the ball will completely disappear. I mean, like, forever.
Bad partners try to verbally persuade your golf ball on every shot, as if you yourself gave it improper instructions. They shout “BE ENOUGH” as soon as you hit a shot, and “BITE” and “SETTLE” as the ball approaches the green. With confusing directions like that, it’s no wonder I score so many double-bogeys.
I’ve practiced being a good golf partner with my wife, who has really cool golf shoes but does not understand certain male behaviors on the golf course. Let’s make up a completely fictitious example. Say a guy named George hits a particularly bad shot. He will probably shout some bad words, may throw his clubs farther than Lou Pinella has ever thrown first base and occasionally kick the tires of the golf cart, after which he’ll hold one foot in the air and jump up and down on the other one, cursing so profusely that the cigar shoots out of his mouth.
A woman, such as my wife, might interpret this behavior incorrectly. This is not, despite how it looks, any indication whatsoever that George is having a bad time. George is actually having the time of his life. The way a guy sees it, what’s not to like about a game that involves gambling, cursing and driving a motorized vehicle while drinking beer?
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