This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons is
unintentional and strictly coincidental. If you are below the age of 18,
or 21 depending on your locality, stop reading right now. If your
government prohibits erotic literature, stop reading now and delete this.
If you choose to continue, that is your decision -- and your responsibility
-- not mine. This is intended solely for adults, and any other
rebroadcast, retransmission, and account of the game is strictly prohibited
by the National Hockey League. Wait --The NHL doesn't care --I care. Any
unauthorized redistribution of this is in violation of copyright. I
authorize this to be archived in its entirety, except for a fee.
This is Copyright 1999 by John3365A@aol.com. All rights reserved.
I Love Golf
by John A
The grounds keeper let me on the course early, in fact I was the only
one playing. Actually I was the only one who had played this course for
weeks. Despite this, or perhaps because of it, the grounds keeper was
keeping the course in particularly good condition lately. I'd noticed
that the
little things were being done to keep the course in good shape; the
fairways
and putting surfaces were carefully trimmed, and the bunkers were raked
meticulously. For my part, I'd always been careful with my play as
well. If
I made a divot, I always replaced it neatly. I made sure that I was
careful
around the green, and I never pressured the grounds keeper to play the
back
nine first. Actually I hadn't yet gotten around to playing the back
nine. I
found that just playing the front nine of this beautiful course was more
than
enough for me. And those couple of days when the course was having
drainage problems, I just walked the grounds with the grounds keeper,
not
pressuring her to play at all.
Of course, I'd played many other types of courses before this one, but
for the past month or so, I'd just played this one exclusively. I
suppose
that's why the grounds keeper let me come over early. I just needed to
play
golf that morning.
I took out my driver, the mighty one wood. Clutching it tightly, I
stood surveying the lush fairway before me. I took a few practice
swings
with my wood, getting myself warmed up. I approached the tee and swung
as mightily as I could, splitting the fairway with my powerful drive.
Looking down the fairway, I could see the result of my first swing
right down the middle. Approaching it again, I got my wood and gripped
it
firmly, preparing to cleave through the fairway again. I had a great
lye, it
was as if the grass just parted for me.
I noticed how and lush this particular fairway was. I loved golf
and I enjoyed playing on fairways that were thick. I had played on all
types
of courses, long ones and short ones. There were courses that were wide
and ones that were narrow. I liked the somewhat wide courses, I felt
that I
had more leeway with my shots. With a wide course, there was more to
enjoy and explore. I didn't like them too wide, that wasn't enjoyable
to me;
but a course that had character, with nicely curving fairways, that was
what
I liked. Some narrow courses were enjoyable too; but some of them would
play easily one day, and be unplayable on other days. Not trying to
make
generalizations, I felt that some narrow courses required too much
maintenance, whereas courses that were a more naturally contoured with
the surrounding land were much more relaxed to play, and more enjoyable
to be around.
One time, I played a course that was totally bare, all dirt. The
grounds keeper one day just removed all the grass. I didn't understand
why,
but the grounds keeper said that the course would be more responsive to
my play that way. And there were those courses in the desert, which had
just strips of fairway surrounded by bare dirt. There was a course I
played
in Arizona like that once. The course was so nice, I was thinking that
I
could have played just that course for the rest of my life. But things
didn't
work out, and it became a private course. I still think longingly about
that
course sometimes.
Of course, you have to watch out for courses with crabgrass. That
can seriously ruin your game. A friend of mine played a course that was
loaded with crabgrass once. He kept going on about how beautiful a
course
it was, how other people were impressed that he was playing a course as
nice as that one. Then he noticed crabgrass one day, and his play just
took a
nose dive. He wasn't able to play golf for a few months after that.
Needless
to say, he didn't play that course again. Now, he makes sure that he
gets to
know the grounds keeper very well before he plays a course. And he
always keeps his clubs covered now, too.
This course was a links course, essentially designed around the
surrounding land. It was hilly in spots, though not too hilly to make
if out
of proportion. I didn't like the courses where the grounds keeper made
the
hills artificially large. They just didn't look right to me. This
course had flat
areas as well, in fact the fairways were very level, but not flat to the
point
of being like a parking lot. The course was about average in length,
I'd
played longer, but this course wasn't easy by any means. I had to get
to
know the grounds keeper very well before I was allowed to play.
I swung once again, ripping my wood shot down the middle again. I
was on fire that day. My shots were right down the middle, parting the
lush
fairway smoothly. I was very satisfied with my play, and I noticed the
grounds keeper looking at me, smiling, apparently impressed with my
powerful drives.
I took a minute to inspect the fairway closely. The grass was smooth
and even, and very clean. I couldn't help but run my hands through the
soft
grass, wet with the morning dew, I'd assumed. I gazed at the grounds
keeper, very impressed with the care taken to keep the fairway, and
indeed
the entire course, in such good condition.
I realized that I was spending too much time running my fingers
through the grass, and the grounds keeper was getting a little impatient
with
my slow play, although flattered by all of my attention to the fairway.
I was ready to take my next swing, but was nearing my objective and
needed to try another approach. I decided to go with a wedge, the
perfect
club for the delicate area just nearest the green. I chipped my wedge,
and I
was really close. Perhaps one or two putts and I would reach my
objective.
Approaching the putting surface, I knew that my putter was ready to
its business. I wasn't that far away, and I knew that I might be done
in just
one more stroke. The grounds keeper looked on attentively, hanging on
my
every movement. She, too, was a true golf fan and I could tell that she
was
getting more and more excited by my play. She was yelling her
encouragement to me as I approached the green, imploring me to finish
the
hole.
I studied the green, knowing that I was just instants from holing out.
Clutching my putter, I concentrated on the task at hand. I gave one
final
swing of my club and there it was. IT'S IN THE HOLE.
"Yes!" The grounds keeper screamed.
I, too, was excited. The feeling of making a putt is one I never
forget.
And each time I make another putt, the exhilaration that fills me is
nothing
like anything else I've ever felt.
I dropped my club, too overwhelmed to hold it any longer and the
grounds keeper came up to me to congratulate me on my success. I placed
my club and ball back in my bag and began to walk off the green with
her.
"You know, you're only going to be able to play one this
morning. I have to water the course, and then leave to run some
errands,"she told me.
"That's ok. I have to get to work anyway."
I love golf!
----------------
Copyright 1999
John3365a@aol.com
All Rights Reserved
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