A few more pressing issues force me to hold off on tales of sharing golf with my pop.
The most interesting issue in sports is the impending visit of our Olympic athletes to Brazil, as they embark on a journey through time back to the dark ages. There is no Typhoid Mary to greet them at the door, but a trip to Rio and an appointment with the Zika virus is pretty scary. These athletes need to realize that this disease is no joke—a shot of cough syrup and a couple of aspirin ain’t going to get the job done.
Meanwhile, Draymond Green claims there is no hostility between he and LeBron James on the court. They are actually good buddies and business partners, he says. Yeah, right! That is like saying that Adolph Hitler and Franklin Roosevelt were fraternity brothers. You may be buying that rhetoric, but if you should see the two of them going down an alley together, I would bet they ain’t looking for Pokemon. If a cab is passing by, jump in and go home. Tune in to the 11 o’clock news for the results of the alley visit.
The only thing left, then, is the circus taking place in the political arena. I can’t comment on that other than to say I would like to punch one of the candidates in the mouth.
So, sports fans, back to golf with Sam and Tim.
When I was a youngster, I spent quite a few summers in Downingtown, Pa. They had a camp run by the Wissahican Boys Club from Philadelphia. Those were good days. Two weeks of freedom, crafts, boats and I even passed the Red Cross qualification for Life Guard. As an adult with a family I rediscovered Downingtown through some friends, and it seems they had added a hotel complex complete with golf and tennis. This was ideal, because the word “golf” saw the Lacys packing suitcases. My family made a few visits over the years, and a few adventures came with these trips.
On one occasion there was a Japanese conference/vacation happening while we were there. Sam and I were advocates of the early start to our day of golf. It was about a half hour after my morning coffee and I was standing over my ball on the first tee. In the middle of my back swing, the conference attendees fired a cannon to start their daily activities. The sound of that cannon made me think of Pearl Harbor, and the damage it did to my concentration and nerves was a heartbeat from making me pee in my pants. I was a wreck the rest of the day. Sam thought it was funny.
There is a course in Baltimore that wraps around a Montgomery Ward’s warehouse complex, and on it is a par 5 hole with a dog leg around the motor pool. Yours truly thought it would be a brilliant idea to cut the dog leg by hitting my ball over the fence to the other side of the fairway. I crushed it, or so I thought. My ball landed among the trucks and ricocheted back and forth making a hell of a racket. Have you ever looked into the eyes of about 15 pissed-off truck drivers? My life flashed before my eyes. Five minutes later I was on my way down I-95 with occasional peeks in the rear view mirror looking for Ward’s trucks.
One of my favorite stories doesn’t involve golf. Sam and I went to New York at the invitation of ESPN. There was a panel discussion on the subject of the world’s best athlete. Jim Brown was riding at the top of the list when Sam dropped a bomb: his choice was Secretariat. I was convinced at that moment that my pop had bumped his head. But, in hindsight it was a pretty good choice.
As we were about to leave the Big Apple, we caught a cab. The driver let us know in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t happy with the short trip to the train station. At our destination, he was acting like an idiot so I refused to tip. At this point this idiot wanted to get in my face. People who know me will tell you that this is not a good idea. Before I could take this idiot to church, I heard the cab door slam and there was Sam. My backup had arrived. Typical Sam, never a backward step.