The Deep Freeze

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

Huck Tales

The Deep Freeze

The Hucks have taken several golf trips; but, for reasons which should become clear, this one stands out. The Destin area of Florida hosts many golf tournaments. One of our favorites is called the Deep Freeze, a two-day tournament held at Rocky Bayou in Niceville. The event was called the Deep Freeze because it was held in February, during which, even in the “deep” south, the weather can be rather cold for the sport of golf.

Fourteen golfers stayed in neighboring rental homes near the beach in Destin. After the Saturday round, a group headed over to Kelly Plantation for another eighteen holes. After that, everyone met up for dinner at a steakhouse where, on another trip, Joe had consumed a ten pound lobster. One member of the group told us not to let him get drunk and wind up at a “titty bar.” After dinner, sure enough, he was looking for a strip club. Fortunately, he was not driving. We went back to the condos where we enjoyed some night golf, drinks, cigars, and stories.

Burger was soon found playing condo golf, hitting wedge shots off the asphalt road into the pool at the other house, some sixty yards away. When informed that he was probably damaging his wedge, since sparks flew up every time he clicked a ball off the pavement, Burger calmly assured us that it was not his wedge. It was Corby’s wedge. Corby, another member of the group, was staying elsewhere with his wife, but he had left his clubs in Burger’s truck. When asked if we needed to gather up all the balls he had hit, Burger informed us that we had better do so if Corby was going to play tomorrow. The balls also belonged to Corby.

At some point, a Huck named Timpro picked up the wedge and began hitting balls. After Timpro shanked a couple of shots into the fence and wall of the neighboring condo, we heard the following story. Timpro had played at Kelly Plantation that afternoon with Fuji, Tuna, and J.K. Timpro found his ball a bunker where he had a difficult downhill lie. Fuji asked Timpro how he was going to hit the shot. Brazenly and confidently Timpro climbed into the bunker and said, “I’m a professional. I’ll show you how to hit this shot.” Fuji, Tuna, and J.K. were standing off to the right. Timpro took his swing. It was a hosel rocket. Tuna ducked. Fuji ducked. The ball went whizzing by J.K.’s head. Tuna turned to Fuji and J.K. and said, “Good thing he’s a professional, an amateur would’ve killed us.”

After the laughter died down from that story, J.K., already uneasy with the night’s wedge practice, got up to move his brand new B.M.W. He had strategically parked the car, but it was still well within the range of a hosel rocket. When he got back from moving his car, J.K. told the following story about playing with some friends at Myrtle Beach in South Carolina. He was with two guys, whom we shall call Mike and Bob, who played a lot of golf together. Bob had a history of hitting Mike with his ball at some point during many of their rounds together. On this day with J.K, Bob hit his shot into the woods. After finding the ball, Bob set up to hit his shot through the trees. Mike stopped him, insisting that Bob wait until he found cover, complaining that Bob always hit him with the ball. Mike knelt down behind the cart and told Bob to play away. Bob hit the shot. The ball hit one tree in front of the cart, ricocheted to hit another tree behind the cart, and then nailed Mike, crouched behind the cart, right in the middle of the back. Mike jumped up and yelled, “God damn it! You hit me again. I knew you’d hit me. You always hit me. God damn it!”

After laughter over J.K.’s story subsided, the wedge practice began anew. Somebody lodged a ball into the stucco of a house much further down the road. Sleep finally came, but several of the boys had sleeping issues. J.K. got up at about three in the morning and went out for a cigarette. He found three other guys up walking around and smoking on the neighboring porch. When daylight came, we retrieved the golf balls from the pool, yard, and stucco. It was a night of Crown Royal giggles that the Hucks fondly remember.

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

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