The Gin Game

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

Huck Tales

The Gin Game

A phone conversation between Ricky Bobby and me usually goes something like this. I answer the phone, knowing who is calling because of the distinctive ring tone I have for him – “Yakety Sax,” perfect for Ricky. I begin chuckling and continue for about fifteen seconds. Ricky Bobby then chuckles for about fifteen seconds. Sometimes, after that, he just says, “Alright, see you later. Bye.” If he wishes to communicate further, he will stay on the line until I ask, in a nasal toned voice, “Ricky, is that you.” He replies, in a nasal toned voice,“ I don’t know. Let me check. [A few seconds pass.] Oooo…. Yep, it’s me alright. Is that you?” I reply, “No, you’re You. I’m Roy.” Ricky says, “Well, is Roy there yet?” I reply, “No, I’m here now.” Ricky says, “Roy is not here now, because I’m here and I don’t see Roy.” I say, “No, I’m here; you must be there.” Ricky says, “Oh… shit, I must have made a wrong turn.” Ricky then asks, “Why’d you call?” I respond, “I think you called me.” Ricky says, “Okay, then, see you later. Bye.”

Despite the brilliance of our phone conversations, Ricky Bobby and I are generally not given to playing clever tricks on others, so the rare occasions of our deception stand out. One evening, after a round of golf, some of the boys decided to play Gin or Gin Rummy, not an uncommon occurrence. Ricky Bobby and I opted out of the gin game and stayed outside on the patio to enjoy our drinks and cigars. After a couple of drinks, we hatched our plan.

Three of the Gin players had private carts. The three were Fuji, Tequila Bill II, and another Huck whom we shall call Hendekka. Ricky Bobby and I hid Hendekka’s cart in an alley that descends to one side of the club restaurant, and we hid the two other carts behind the restaurant. We unleashed the bag strap on the two carts behind the restaurant, a gag with which Ricky Bob and I were very familiar, having played the roles of victims and perpetrators on previous occasions. When you are the victim, when your bag falls off your cart, the gag seems very childish, but when you are the observer or perpetrator, somehow the gag never gets old. On this night, we were the perpetrators. We sat, smoked our cigars, enjoyed our drinks, and waited. At about 10:00 p.m. that evening, the Gin game broke up. The boys stumbled out, looking for their golf carts; and, not in their sharpest mental condition, they began wondering where they had parked.

Ricky Bobby and I sat in the darkness. In a few minutes, we heard Fuji and Tequila Bill II exclaim that they had found their carts. Fuji climbed into his cart and stomped the gas pedal. His golf bag fell to the ground. Tequila Bill II let out one of his special Ed McMahon belly laughs, an unmistakable identifying characteristic. Firmly seated in his cart now, Tequila Bill II pressed his own gas pedal. His bag fell to the ground. Fuji laughed now, more like a hyena than Ed McMahon. Tequila Bill II’s laughter was replaced by vile cursing.

Hendekka, by this time, had found his cart parked in the alley, and he came driving up to the patio where Joe, who had been playing Gin with the others, Ricky Bob, and I were waiting. The cart path, in the darkness, was not entirely clear, especially for someone who had consumed a few beers that evening. Off to the side of the cart path was a concrete pyramid, about two feet high, in which a nonfunctioning lamp was anchored. The front center of Hendekka’s cart slammed into the pyramid. The little lamp never had a chance. Hendekka’s cart climbed to the apex of the pyramid and stopped, shipwrecked, teetering like a boat that ran upon a stump. Joe, cigar case in hand, went down backwards in laughter on the hard concrete patio.

Composure was difficult to regain, but we had to lift Hendekka’s cart off the pyramid so he could go home. Ricky Bobby and I reclaimed our seats in the darkness and declared the evening an immense success – damn good entertainment for such simple pranks.

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

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