I don’t really play golf. But a couple weeks ago, I played golf.
We’re talking real golf. On a real golf course. No windmills. No astroturf.
And when you finish the 18th hole, your ball doesn’t disappear into a mysterious tunnel.
It was Spring Break and a spur of the moment thing. I texted my buddy, and former Nugget employee, Jake and asked him if he wanted to play a late round on Thursday.
He doesn’t play golf either. So, he was a perfect partner. And he was in.
We really weren’t ready for the bright lights of Achasta so we went down Highway 400 to Hampton Golf Village.
“How fancy is this place?” he texted. “Can I wear shorts?”
I replied that we should probably wear fancy shirts (meaning a shirt with a collar) but I drew the line at fancy pants. We were on vacation after all. Then I headed downstairs and dug my old clubs out of the garage. From the looks of it, something had burrowed its way out of my golf bag at some point. Or maybe into it?
I decided not to dwell on it and headed for the course.
But I was not alone.
Completing the all-star squad were fellow first-time golfers Theo Aiken, 10, and Bowen Aiken, 15. (They were both trained at Top Golf and Pirates Cove putt-putt.) And Katie and Jake’s wife Grace offered rolling moral support in their own golf cart.
We had our clubs. We had our fancy shirts. We had our used balls from Walmart.
We were ready for fairway fun. And it was fun. A lot of fun.
Unless that is, you were playing behind us.
Then it was probably a much different experience.
After a few holes it became apparent, we were slow. Very slow.
Slow like a broken-down jalopy on the freeway.
As the golfing traffic began to pile up behind us, we all began to panic.
At one point while in the fairway on a par four I looked back and saw a man standing at the tees.
I didn’t know it was possible to read someone’s exact body language from 200 yards away. But there was no mistaking it. His hands were on his hips and I got the feeling he was going to shake his fist at any moment.
I turned back to the ball in front of me.
“Hurry up!” I told myself. “Just hit the ball!”
I hurried up. And I just hit the ball…directly into a tree ten feet ahead of me.
It was semi-rotten and I took a big chunk out of the trunk.
It was the shot of the day.
Around this point, we stopped trying to keep up with the flow and simply repeated the five magic words that make bad golfers much more popular with good golfers.
“Hey, want to play through?”
The answer was always yes.
Eventually we let everyone play through.
And once everyone on the course had passed us by it was much more relaxing.
What was the score? I’m not really sure. We went by vibes, really.
“What’d you get on that hole?” asked Jake.
I shrugged. “That felt like an eight,” I said.
Then I patted myself on the back for my quadruple bogey.
“Is this close enough for a gimme?”I asked at one point while standing several yards away from the hole.
Everyone agreed it was.
We penciled it in.
Man, we were good at this.
We continued to play like this until hole 12 when we realized it was just too dark to continue and we were hungry.
So, we went to Chipotle and ate burritos.
As I write this, I realize “12 holes and a burrito” may just be my new favorite professional sport.
in fact, by the time we had rolled off the course Jake and I were already talking about how we could bring our show to Achasta.
That’s right, local golfers.
Here we come. It’s bound to happen.
There’s no escape. Um, sorry if that sounded like a threat.
But hey, if you golf too, maybe we’ll see you out there on the course one day.
I’ll be sure to wave as you play through.
Matt Aiken is Executive Editor of The Dahlonega Nugget. He can be reached at 706-864-3613 or via email at maiken@thedahloneganugget.com