I approached a golf course
Nov 14 2001
I approached a golf course and there was a man standing with lottery ticket in
his cap, eating a sloppy hot dog and losing his mustard. He was standing up by
the driving range smoking one of those cigarettes that smells like spicy cigars,
and trying to hold the hotdog in the same hand so that at least one hand would
be free to keep his raggedy bag of clubs leaning against his hip. The man was
a W.C. Fields copycat, probably paid by the establishment to entertain the guests
as they filed out of the clubhouse to get into their carts and begin their journey
down to the first hole. He had on a beige suit, saddle oxfords and a men's summer
dress hat with a stars and stripes trimming with that ridiculous lottery ticket
stuffed partly underneath. There a caddy as a sidekick, too, but he was laying
in the grass chewing on a ballpoint pin and throwing golf balls into the shrubbery.
His dress was a bit more modest, being only loose fitting brown pants and a Hawaiian
print short sleeve shirt with a tremendous white flower stretched across his chest,
but no shoes. I say the fellow was a W.C. Fields copycat only because of the way
he stood back on his heels underutilizing his toes; he could have been a complete
original but it seems so unlikely in our time. He finished up his hotdog, threw
the paper and half-smoked cigarette onto the grass and whistled loudly for his
caddy who was only 5 feet away. The caddy sprung from his reclined position and
grabbed two broken clubs from the golf bag and hurled them out onto the driving
range. Without hesitation, he ran around the corner and returned with a tandem
bicycle. Hoisting the golf bag, which had since fallen on the ground, onto his
shoulder, the caddy took his place on the front seat and waited as W.C. adjusted
his pants and climbed into position on the back. With a few wobbles the duo was
off, without a word, towards the 18th hole. After that, I just went home. I don't
play golf anyway; the only time I've ever been golfing I hit a house.