On the Fringe
Like a Folger’s Commercial
By Luke Flanigan
It was 5 a.m. as I wheeled my jalopy into the vacant
parking lot.The fog was so thick that it was difficult
to see more than 10 or 15 feet before objects were
swallowed up by the murky haze. I sat there in this
muddy pre-dawn nebula, swigging coffee to battle
drowsiness and wondering why I always agree to this.
After all, who makes a 7 a.m. tee time at a course that
is an hour-and-a-half from home?
The course, Dick Groat’s Champion Lakes, has
become somewhat of a tradition among two dozen of
my friends (actually, a few friends and a bunch of
acquaintances).We travel to Somerset for a two-day,
four-round tournament.We even have green jackets
awarded to the winning teams.
Tired and ornery, I sat in my car awaiting my
ride. A buddy of mine offered to drive, so we agreed
to meet in a Wal-Mart parking lot near the turnpike.
Running a good 15 minutes late, he finally shows up.
But, like the funny-guy he is, he drives right past me,
his brake lights disappearing into the enveloping
brume. In no mood for
jokes, I dragged myself
out of the car, popped the
trunk, and lugged my
sticks, shoes and a suitcase
across the desolate
parking lot to find him.
I heard a door slam
shut and I followed the
sound, trying to hone in
on my friend, where I
planned on giving him a
good kick in the butt for
making me walk. I saw
the dim silhouette of a car
as I moved through the
gloom — then a second
car. As I continued, I saw
three men in their mid-
70s, shaking hands and
talking with their trunks
open.Had I stumbled
upon some sort of senior
citizen drug deal?
As I got closer, I saw
one of the men putting a
set of golf clubs in the
trunk of the other vehicle.
Holy smokes! These guys
were doing the same
thing I was doing.Talk about your Early Bird Special!
Suddenly, my sleepiness gave way to something
else — my fiendish side. I dropped my suitcase,
strolled out of the haze, golf bag slung over my
shoulder and shouted to the unsuspecting group,
“Hey, you guys need a fourth?”
In bewilderment, the trio watched me stroll out of
the fog of this desolate parking lot looking for a group
to play golf with.
“P- Pardon me?” one of them finally manages to
mumble.
“Yeah. Hi guys. I’m a single today, so I’m just
wandering around trying to find a group to play with.
I noticed you guys only have three. You mind if I join
up with you?”
At this point, I am standing amidst the three
men, smiling and trying to look casual about this
unusual happenstance.
“Where are you playing today?” I ask, breaking
their silent stares.
“We were headin’ over to Deer Run,” one answers
unenthusiastically.
“Deer Run. I love that course.Tough back nine,
links style. I know it well. So.Whatta ya say? Unless
you already have a fourth,” I say, giving them an out.
“No, it’s just the three of us,” one of them offers,
getting an angry dagger of a look from the other two.
“Great,” I say. “Do you have room in that trunk for
another bag?” I blurt, moving forward and looking into
their trunk, now pushing the issue beyond tolerance.
Their horror was palpable. Not only was some
weirdo hanging out in a Wal-Mart parking lot looking
for golf partners, but he had just invited himself to
spend the day with them. Just then, my friend pulled
up in his Jeep, wound down the window, staring in
bewilderment at me and my three new friends.
“Too late,” I shout at my bleary-eyed pal. “These
guys already asked me to play with them.”
After an awkward moment, I explained to them
how I was just here waiting for my ride and decided to
have some fun with them.The laughter that came from
the three seniors was precious.They even shook my
hand, partially in good humor, partially out of relief
that I would not be spending the day with them.We
wished each other a good round, I jumped in the Jeep
and sped off, only to return a few minutes later to scour
the lot looking for my suitcase.
All in all, like a Folgers commercial, it was a pretty
good morning.
|
Hurdling to Victory
