“Shorties” and One Liners

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.”

At War Again

Nick was playing with Joe once when Joe hit one of his high, 350-yard drives on the eighteenth. The only problem was that Joe’s high, 350-yard drive landed in the middle of Lake Diane which runs down the right side of the hole. After a few seconds of quiet, Nick said, “Joe, somewhere on the other side of the world, a Japanese sub just surfaced and surrendered.”

Cart Path Only

Back home, at Golden Eagle, the Nickster plays with a group run by a character called Duff, a formerly large-bellied and good natured man who enjoys sinking barbs into other people’s flesh. A massive rain storm came through Tallahassee and submerged part of Golden Eagle in water.  Due to the water, we had to keep carts on the paved paths for several days.  A large part of the eighteenth hole, next to a lake, was totally underwater.  Walking up to the eighteenth green, Nick and Duff were talking about the water issue.  Looking the pregnant-life Duff up and down, Nick said, “If your water breaks, we’re going to be restricted to the cart paths for the next three months.”

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!”

How to Sustain One’s Handicap

A Huck known as Guzz had endured a long and brutal day of golf. As Guzz told us, he “shot an FM radio station.” Even though he scored high above his own relatively high handicap, Guzz was frustrated enough to complain about one of his playing partners, a Huck known as Hughbie. Of Hughbie, Guzz said, “Man, you’ve got to play a lot of golf to be a twelve handicap with a swing like that.”

On Correcting One’s Handicap

Jeffrow is a normally a very good player, a scratch to plus-four handicap, but he too goes into slumps now and again. On day, during one of those slumps, Jeffrow was complaining about his handicap being too low. He was about twelve over par when he came to the sixteenth and hit another “doozy” off to the left of the green. I said to Fuji, “Jeffrow apparently thinks he can correct his handicap with one round.”

The Claw

Big Spoon has not enjoyed a reputation for being the best of putters. Recently, he changed from a conventional putting grip to “the claw.” He has actually putted better with it, but improvement never stopped a Huck from throwing a jab. Ricky Bobby asked of Big Spoon, “When did you go to the ‘I-can’t-putt’ grip?”

Speaking of Age

Two of our Hucks, Wayno and Monkster, headed out early one Wednesday because Wayno had to join guests for an early evening dinner. My threesome passed Wayno and Monkster as we were heading down the eleventh and the two of them were finishing the thirteenth. As we exchanged greetings, Druseppe commented that, between the two of them, they had 197 years of golf experience, an over exaggeration, but not by much more than sixty years. Wayno and the Monkster had teed off about an hour in front of us. We waited on them to hit our tee shots on the seventeenth. As we rode up to seventeenth green, Fuji yelled over to the eighteenth tee, “Hey, what’s going on? Why are you holding us up? Did you guys have to stop and take a nap?”

Playing with Children

The Monkster plays well as compared to most golfers regardless of age, but his age makes his play all the more remarkable. He moans, though, about almost all of his shots and is very humble about his game. One day, the Monkster was playing the par-four, eleventh hole at Golden Eagle. He hit a nice drive and, then, hit his second into the hole for an eagle. Everyone in his group began yelling in celebration. The Monkster, in uncharacteristically proud and brazen speech, yelled back, “Well, what did you think? Did you think you were playing with a child?”

The Price of Balls

Peedrow regularly sponsors teams in charity golf events, and he is nice enough to invite a few of us to join him. During one of these benefit tournaments, our scramble team arrived at our selected tee ball, and I threw down my ball to hit. Admittedly, my ball was not in premium condition: nicked, scraped, yellowed. Fuji looked down at my ball and chirped, “Roy, you know, Peedrow paid $2,500.00 to get us into this tournament. You think you could break out a new ball?”

Yeah, Get’em Drunk. That’ll Work!

The owner of Golden Eagle asked me to put together a team for a charity tournament sponsored by the Florida Department of Transportation. It was a scramble or select-a-shot, so I assembled the appropriate players: Joe, Fuji, Peedroww, and myself. A Huck named “C.P.” is an engineer who worked with the Department of Transportation. Before the tournament began, C.P. was talking to the tournament chairman. C.P. pointed to our team and said, “You see those guys over there? Those are the guys who are going to win. They’re good!” The chairman said, “Well, you should get them drinking so that someone else has a chance.” Without hesitation, C.P. said, “Oh nooo…, we don’t want them drinking. They play better when they drink.”

We were already drinking, and we shot nineteen under par without any mulligans. The tournament did not have a net division, so our gross fifty-three was rather impressive. The second place score was fifty-eight. We fielded several nasty looks and incredulous comments. To make matters worse, Fuji and I won nice golf bags in a raffle at the closing ceremony. Fuji, though, gave his bag to one of the guys who had complained about our score.

The Missing “A”-Player Formation

Fuji, Joe, Scratch, and Tuna were playing as a four-man team on which there were players of different ranks and handicaps. Each team had an “A” player, a “B” player, a “C” player, and a “D” player. The “A” player is the best player on each team. Fuji ordered some vodka from the cart girl, and Scratch, the “A” player (hence, his nickname) decided he would like to join in the vodka drinking. Fuji and Scratch began doing a couple of vodka shots every time the cart girl came around.

Near the fifteenth green, Scratch, who had been unusually quiet and sullen on the previous hole, climbed out of the cart, unstrapped his golf bag, put it over his shoulder, and began walking back to the clubhouse. Fuji and the rest of the foursome saw what was happening. Fuji said, “Boys, I apologize. We’ll have to play out with a missing man. I got our ‘A’ player a little too drunk.” Scratch walked a half mile back to the parking lot, threw his clubs in the trunk, sat down in the car, and took a little nap.

How to Make Birdies

I was playing with Corby one day, and we were driving down the ninth fairway. Corby said, “I need a birdie in the worst way.” I replied, “That’s usually how I get ’em too.”

Sex or Golf?

Apparently, Fuji’s wife was particularly amorous one afternoon when Fuji was preparing to make his way to the golf course. When Fuji arrived at the tee box, he announced, “Boys, I gave up sex to play golf with you this afternoon.” Tuna responded, “Fuji, golf lasts a lot longer.”

Pleasuring Oneself

We were sitting on the back porch after our round, when a Huck known as “Double L” began talking about his round. Doc told him, “Double L, your round today is kind of like masturbation. It was fun for you, but I don’t want to hear about it.”

Foul Ball

One Huck hit a terrible shot on the par-three twelfth. In total disgust, he exclaimed, “Fuck me blue!” Another Huck responded, “Well okay, but I’m going to require a lot more whiskey.”

Slippery Slope

On the second hole, Gator hit his tee ball into the left bank of a steep ravine. Somehow, the ball managed to stay up on the severe slope. To make matters worse, the slope was covered with leaves and pine straw, making for rather unsure footing. Fuji asked, “How are you going to hit this one Gator?” Gator thought for a second and then explained, “Fuji, I tell you what I’m going to do. I just going to slide down the hill on my feet and hit the ball as I go by.” Gator almost got it out of the ravine.

Golf Course Maintenance

An infrequent Huck, whom we shall call Mac, was hitting trees all the way down the left side of the fourteenth hole. Normally a great player, Mac was having a hard time finding his center. Tuna informed him, “Mac, you know we pay for maintenance workers to trim those trees.”

Lost One, Won One

As this story illustrates, the Hucks’ President, Burger, is a man of high integrity with a great sense of fairness. Burger got caught up in a Wolf Game one day, and by the time the group reached the eighteenth hole, Burger was about $400.00 down. (That may sound like a lot of money for a golf game, but these guys formerly played for substantial sums). Burger picked a Huck called Dallas as his partner. Another Huck, called Bulldog, however, hit the par-five, eighteenth green in two shots. Bulldog made a decent first putt, and left himself a two-foot birdie putt to win the hole and cause Burger to lose almost $1,000.00 in the Wolf Game. When Bulldog asked Burger if Burger wanted him to miss the putt, Burger replied, “Hell no! We’ve got a two-dollar Nassau against those guys behind us.” Bulldog made the putt. Burger lost about a thousand in the Wolf Game, but he and Bulldog won that two-dollar Nassau.

Gone Golfing Fishing

Believe it or not, if one plays at Golden Eagle Golf and Country Club, one can actually see eagles. They are not golden eagles, but rather bald eagles. They can be seen soaring in the skies, spying on the waters below, looking for unsuspecting fish.

One day, playing on the tenth hole, Ricky Bobby was preparing to hit his second shot when he heard a phrase one does not often hear on a golf course. Bruce is a Huck with a dry and sharp wit. In a calm, unexcited voice, Bruce said to Ricky, “Watch out for the fish!” Ricky, preparing to begin his swing, thought, “What the hell is he talking about?” At that instant, a fish fell out of the sky and plopped on the ground about two feet away. An eagle, flying overhead, had dropped his prey at Ricky’s feet.

When One’s Ability Surpasses the Quality of One’s Equipment

On another occasion, Bruce was playing with Doc when Doc “pured” a shot way over the fifteenth green. Doc, half in shock and half in bragging, commented, “Did you see that? I must have hit that eight iron about 170 yards.” Bruce replied, “Yeah Doc. I guess you’re just too damn good for your clubs.”

A Man with Four Wedges

Fuji and Peedrow were playing the par four eleventh. Fuji and Peedrow hit large drives over the bunker and on the right side of the fairway, leaving themselves with seventy-yard shots to the hole. Peedrow has struggled with his shorter shots for several years; and, sure enough, on his next shot, he hit the big ball first, moving the small ball only about three yards. Coolly, Peedrow began walking back to his cart. Fuji asked, “Where are you going?” Peedrow responded, “To get a different wedge.”

We did not realize that a three-yard difference would require a different wedge. To his credit, though, Peedrow hit his next shot to within six feet and made his putt for par.

The Value of Being a Grinder

A Huck we call Fresh was playing the fourth hole, a par five, and his third shot found a bunker on the back right side of the green. Five thoughtful shots later, he exited the bunker and found himself twenty-five feet from the hole. Rather than picking up his ball and heading to the cart, which most Hucks would have graciously done two shots earlier, Fresh announced that he was not going to make ten on the hole. Sure enough, Fresh sunk his long putt for a nine.

Two weeks later, Fuji, Fresh, and I were playing with Ricky Bobby, and Ricky found himself in the same bunker. Ricky’s first attempt to extricate himself came to nothing, and he calmly and pensively prepared to try again. Ricky’s second attempt was equally unsuccessful, and he took his time setting up for his third attempt. About then, I made the sardonic remark to Fresh that Ricky’s play resembled that of his two weeks earlier. When his third effort came to naught, Ricky began to flail madly and wildly at the ball, adding four or five quick strokes to an already ruined score. The stubborn ball remained in the bunker. Ricky bent down, picked up his ball, and exited. Fresh loudly harangued, “Quitter!”

On Being Bullet Proof

Ricky Bobby, Joe, and I were fortunate enough to receive a golf trip as a Christmas gift from our wives. The trip was a package for the Tournament Players Club at Sawgrass in Ponte Vedra, Florida. The package included five different courses, one of which, of course, was the famed Stadium Course. The events of my story, however, occurred while playing at Sawgrass Country Club.

We were on a hole with houses down the left side. Joe, for his tee shot, hit a line drive straight at a huge window in one of the houses. Joe hit the ball hard, and we cringed in anticipation of the immense glass breaking. KAA-BLAM! Miraculously, though, the glass did not break. Joe, realizing that his first ball was now out of bounds, re-teed. KAA-BLAM! Yes, yes, he did — right into the same window. As we drove down the hole, the couple who owned the home came out of the back door. Unbelievably, they were not upset. In fact, they were laughing their asses off. The husband said, “Damn, I’m glad we got the bullet proof glass!”

The Reality of Hell

One day Fuji asked me, “Roybob, do you believe in hell?” I responded, “Of course, I believe in hell. I had to watch you play golf today, didn’t I?”

What It Is Like to Play with the Hucks

Doc invited a mutual friend, who was thinking about joining Golden Eagle, to play with the Hucks. The friend, whom I call Stevie, replied, “Doc, why don’t I just give you $200.00 a week and let the winners kick me in the nuts?”

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

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