Get in the Cart!: When Golfers Reach Their Limits

Roybob’s Book on Golf: The Hucks, A Golfer’s Divine Comedy, and a Religious Philosophy of Golf

Huck Tales


Get in the Cart!:

When Golfers Reach Their Limits

All upper level golfers have had those days when they bend to the will of relatives or friends to play golf with those whose abilities are somewhat diminished. Those days are typically grueling, filled with hunts for lost balls and questions about rules. A foursome of this nature is difficult enough; consider, then, the appeal of a fivesome on a hot summer day.

During the dog days of summer, Fuji, myself, and three others (a father and two sons) ventured forth on a round of golf. One of the sons, whom we shall call Joe, was a good player. The other son and father, however, required a lot of strokes to negotiate the journey. We looked for balls, waited for practice swings, rendered yardages, read putts; and about five hours later, we arrived at the seventeenth hole. The day had taken its toll. Fuji, Joe, and I were ready to be done. We could see the clubhouse, with its store of “forget-about-it juice,” from the seventeenth green.

Seventeen is a “BALL BUSTER,” a lengthy par three featuring a green cushioned by bunkers on two sides and water on three sides. The bunkers and lakes, and combinations thereof, frequently ruin one’s otherwise good score.

Joe’s father, whom we shall call Kent, hit his tee ball left of the green and into the water. Due to where his ball entered the water, Kent was forced by rule to drop a ball for his next shot on the far side of a finger of water. He then plopped his third shot into that finger of water. He dropped again for what would be his fifth shot. Kent managed to clear the water this time, but not the bunker. Kent’s ball buried itself underneath the lip of the bunker next to the green. The rest of us, by this time, had become a bit impatient. The threads were wearing thin. Kent, however, climbed into the bunker and began examining what would be his sixth shot. Kent inquired, “Fuji, how would you hit this shot?” Fuji took off his hat, leaned back, and scratched his head. “KENT, IF THAT WERE MY BALL, I’D PICK THAT BITCH UP AND GET IN THE GOD DAMN CART!”

Kent did not heed Fuji’s advice; he made a nice eight on the hole. An expression, though, was born that day. The Hucks adhere to a triple-bogey maximum, and whenever a player reaches two over par, the Hucks will inevitably invite him to “GET IN THE CART!”

Roybob’s Book on Golf: The Hucks, A Golfer’s Divine Comedy, and a Religious Philosophy of Golf

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