The Jackasses Ruining Golf Etiquette
For those of you not up on your scientific nomenclature, Equus asinus is the name for a donkey – which until about 1785 was known as an “ass.” A male donkey – or ass – is known as a “jack,” which of course leads to “jack ass.” The ones I see roaming the golf courses are more correctly labeled “jackasses” and the invasive breed is widespread and totally out of control.
My Father, My Teacher
I’ve been following and playing golf since the early 1950’s. Long before I ever shanked a drive out of a tee box, I was spending weekends at the local area golf tourneys watching my father play. I never quite moved up to the pathetic duffer stage, but dad was a scratch golfer that if he’d have started playing earlier, might have made it to the tour. To this day, he still holds the course record at our home country club, as well as the most hole-in-ones. I also walked with him as we followed some of the pros around on the tour courses.
That was the era I gained my understanding of golf etiquette – something that seems to have not just been disregarded, but has been blown to smithereens by the Equus asinus jackasses to be found on the courses these days.
My Front Row Seat To The Sh*t Show
My 4th floor balcony overlooks the 14th tee box at one of our local courses. It’s not a private country club, nor is it a municipal course, but a moderately upscale private course that’s on the high side of cost and difficulty. You’d think it’d be frequented by the better and more knowledgeable players. Instead, it is infested with some of the worst jackasses I’ve ever seen or imagined.
My knees have pretty well stopped my golf playing. I can walk forever, but I can’t take the twisting. This is a good thing as otherwise, there are a number of “golfers” that would be wearing Big Bertha’s where the sun doesn’t shine – or worse. Here’s a field guide to the most annoying of the golf jackass species.
Different Types Of Jackasses
This subspecies obviously never made it to even elementary school! Fivesomes, sixsomes, and god help me, sevensomes include a lot more than 4 players. I watch the “megasomes” go by with “real” groups stuck behind them as far as I can see back up the course. Were I in one of the backed up foursomes, I’d be more than homicidal by the time I reached the 14th hole and would have to resort to my “Uzi” club to mow down the whole bunch.
It’s a day in the park for everyone. They’ve brought everyone in the entire family along to watch their golf prowess. One kid that stays quiet and out of the way – OK. Six kids playing tag at every tee box and every green, along with multiple brothers, sisters, spouses, and probably strangers they picked up on the street? NO.
Why in the hell would anyone bring their dog(s) to a golf course? No leashes, of course. They just let them run wild, chase the carts, crap on the greens, tees, fairways, and everywhere else. And they bark – and bark – bark at everything – including air. Uzi time again.
I could spot them a mile away. They put their ball on the tee – then take 17 practice swings behind it. Then in some “preying to the golf gods” ritual, they slowly lift their driver, lining it up with the ball and the distant flag. They slowly bring it down. So they then take another 17 practice swings. Then they step up to the ball – and take yet more practice swings. Finally, they plant their feet over and over while their body as stiff as a fence post. And then they swing.
This is the point I’ve been waiting for – waiting to duck behind one of the columns on my balcony. Because the odds are good, the ball is going to travel 45 degrees to the right and 45 degrees up for a total distance of 20 yards to fly homicidally at my head. I collect a ball or two each week that ends up captured on my balcony.
The mighty driving champ tops his ball and it rolls ten yards. Does he get another ball out of his pocket? No! He walks back to the golf car, unzips his bag, digs around to find another ball – and then hits it maybe 20 yards. Half the time, the mulligan jackass will repeat everything yet again. Slay him now!
The divot jackasses swings with all the power for a pro 500 yard drive – which rolls about 15 feet because he’s lofted a cubic yard divot of grass and dirt. Every golf car on the course is equipped with a “divot repair bottle” of sand and grass seed. I’ve never ONCE seen one of these divot jackasses ever repair the Volkswagen size hole he’s left in the tee box.
There are paved cart paths everywhere. Do they follow them? Hell no! They drive everywhere and drive over everything. The only good thing about these particular morons is that eventually they manage to drive the golf cart into one of the hidden Grand Canyon size gullies out in the deep rough. Sadly, they always seem to walk away from the wreck. I keep hoping for the meat wagons to arrive.
These morons run their robot carts over the tees, over the greens, into sand bunkers, into other golfers, into golf cars, into gullies, and even into the lakes. There is no question that their little robot caddies have many times their own intelligence.
While any and all of the others deserve killing, these are the ones that should be eliminated without trial for the public good. What kind of incomprehensible moron takes a high powered boom box to a golf course to listen to their (c)rap – a boom box that actually rattles my windows with its over saturated and distorted bass line. The boom box jackasses on the golf course, and anywhere else, need to be slain on sight (or on hearing – or on feeling.)
I am certain that none of the gentle and courteous visitors to Manopause have ever been guilty of any of these sins, but should you encounter any golf Equus asinii in the wild, just remember that if you can get one “real” golfer on the jury, you’ll never be convicted!