A buddy and I were a two-some at Gleannloch a few weeks back… 1:30ish on Wednesday. It was actually fairly crowded for a weekday. We tee off as normal with both of us hitting 2 off the first. As we're driving in the fairway, we see a single driving up to the starter. We don't think anything of it other than to make note that we'll probably let him play thru if the opportunity arrises.
As we're collecting our extra balls in #1 fairway, we hear what sounds like a driver make contact from #1 tee. My buddy and I look at each other thinking, "Huh? Surely not."
Sure enough, we hear a ball land 30 yards past my buddy's drive (he's a short hitter) and to the right of us. I can't help but wonder WTF?
As I'm retrieving my 1st tee shot from a fairway bunker, the guy rolls up to us. It's a 25ish year old with the wrap around glasses that the baseball guys/kids wear. The conversion goes like this:
Poot: What's going on?
Turd: Oh, my name's Turd and the starter told me to hit up with y'all and join.
Poot: OK… my name's Poot… so you could see us in the fairway and just hit anyway without giving us any sort of heads-up or anything?
Turd: Yeah.
Poot (trying to stay calm, maybe he's special needs?): You realize that's wildly dangerous, right? (Now holding up my retrieved ball)… These things can kill people if it hits somebody just right.
Turd: Yeah, I totally agree with you.
Poot (seething, but staying calm): But you did it anyway? Don't you think that's messed up?
Turd: Yeah. I agree with everything you're saying. Well, hey, I'm playing with you guys today, so if you f'ing hate me or whatever, then I guess you're just f'ed.
Poot: Well we're not off to a very good start.
……….
No interaction until we're green-side… and it's 5 of the longest minutes of my life… my skin is crawling and I'm lamenting spending 4+ hours with Turd. Not gonna happen…
……….
We get to the green:
Poot: Why don't you just go on ahead and we'll hang back.
Turd: OK. Sounds good.
……….
For almost 5 hours, I had to fight back the urge to hit into him every hole as we waited for him to clear. Let's just say this dip**** should be glad he met the more refined, seasoned version of Poot.
More than ever, I'm a proponent of the slogan "SHRINK THE GAME."
As we're collecting our extra balls in #1 fairway, we hear what sounds like a driver make contact from #1 tee. My buddy and I look at each other thinking, "Huh? Surely not."
Sure enough, we hear a ball land 30 yards past my buddy's drive (he's a short hitter) and to the right of us. I can't help but wonder WTF?
As I'm retrieving my 1st tee shot from a fairway bunker, the guy rolls up to us. It's a 25ish year old with the wrap around glasses that the baseball guys/kids wear. The conversion goes like this:
Poot: What's going on?
Turd: Oh, my name's Turd and the starter told me to hit up with y'all and join.
Poot: OK… my name's Poot… so you could see us in the fairway and just hit anyway without giving us any sort of heads-up or anything?
Turd: Yeah.
Poot (trying to stay calm, maybe he's special needs?): You realize that's wildly dangerous, right? (Now holding up my retrieved ball)… These things can kill people if it hits somebody just right.
Turd: Yeah, I totally agree with you.
Poot (seething, but staying calm): But you did it anyway? Don't you think that's messed up?
Turd: Yeah. I agree with everything you're saying. Well, hey, I'm playing with you guys today, so if you f'ing hate me or whatever, then I guess you're just f'ed.
Poot: Well we're not off to a very good start.
……….
No interaction until we're green-side… and it's 5 of the longest minutes of my life… my skin is crawling and I'm lamenting spending 4+ hours with Turd. Not gonna happen…
……….
We get to the green:
Poot: Why don't you just go on ahead and we'll hang back.
Turd: OK. Sounds good.
……….
For almost 5 hours, I had to fight back the urge to hit into him every hole as we waited for him to clear. Let's just say this dip**** should be glad he met the more refined, seasoned version of Poot.
More than ever, I'm a proponent of the slogan "SHRINK THE GAME."
