“Shorties” and One Liners

Please be advised. This page does not reproduce the story or article in full. The full story or article is contained in Roybob’s Book on Golf: The Hucks, A Golfer’s Divine Comedy, and a Religious Philosophy of Golf.

Huck Tales

“Shorties” and One Liners

A Scene from Young Frankenstein

Though he has played with us a few times, the Nickster is not officially a Huck. He would, however, make a good Huck. I had the pleasure of traveling to Scotland with Nick and two other friends (Jerry and Ken).  On the tenth hole at Turnberry, Nick was trying to light his cigar in a strong wind.  Jerry told him, “I think it’s lit; I smell something burning.”  Nick responded, “that would be my thumb.”

Are We There Yet?

On the sixteenth at Turnberry, the hole called “Wee Burn,” Nick hit his drive about 180 yards from the green. The wind was hard against us, and Nick asked his caddie, “Do you think I can get there with a five wood?” The caddie, in Scottish brogue of course, responded, “Eventually.”

A Wee Bit Breezy

When we played Carnoustie, the wind was howling. I am guessing there were gusts up to fifty miles an hour. Nick was complaining about the wind, and his caddie asked, “Don’t you have wind like this in Florida.” Nick responded, “Yes … we call it a hurricane, and we don’t play golf in it.”

How Old Are You?

My father is not a Huck either, but we have a tradition of inviting him to play with us on the occasion of his birthday. Bubba, as I call him, is eighty-seven years old. He still plays golf three or four times a week, and he plays well, frequently scoring in the seventies. He usually does not play well with the Hucks for some reason, and his birthday visit for 2011 was no exception. On the fourteenth hole, after he had been playing terribly, I said, “What’s all this crap I hear about you shooting your age or better?  You must be a lot older than I think.”

Hiding One’s Talent

We all can play terribly, of course, and I have certainly had my share of clueless rounds. During one of those torturous adventures, I did not hit a good shot until the twelfth hole. I hit my tee shot close and made birdie. Trying to encourage me, Fuji said, “See Roy; you just can’t hide that talent.” Tuna, unconcerned with my mental condition, said, “Well, he’s been camouflaging the shit out of it!”

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The full version of this story or article is contained in Roybob’s Book on Golf: The Hucks, A Golfer’s Divine Comedy, and a Religious Philosophy of Golf.