Killing a Guy on the Golf Course

Posted: September 16, 2014 in Humor, Sports
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Well, almost.

Years ago I was asked to play in a big charity golf tournament outside of Columbus, imagesQH2X3K9Qand after some hesitation I agreed. I’m not the worst golfer in the world, but at the same time I didn’t really relish the idea of teeing off with 50-people watching as I’ve been known to slice and hook my way around the links occasionally. My group had an early tee time so I hoped there wouldn’t be many people around, thus I could avoid a lot of attention.

No such luck.

To my horror there were probably 30-people around the tee and another 100 lined up on both sides of the fairway, ready to watch. Trust me, they weren’t there to see me. There were several major college coaches playing as well as some former Ohio State football and basketball players in attendance.

Anyway, to say I was nervous would be a massive understatement. All I could think about was a story Greg Cook, former All-Pro quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals and my Aunt Dorothy’s nephew, once told me. He said he was at a Pro-Am out in San Diego and at the first tee there was a narrow corridor about 15-feet wide for about 40-yards down the fairway between the galleries. He said he hooked his drive right into the fans and drilled a guy right in the chest. It scared the hell out of him, and at the moment it was scaring the hell out of me.

As luck would have it I was the first guy up in my foursome to tee off, because of course I was. I took a couple of practice swings, trying desperately to look like I could, you know, golf. I stepped up, took my swing, and to my delight whacked a low, screaming drive smack-dab down the middle of the fairway. The ball rose slowly and majestically, then disappeared over a small rise in the golf course up ahead.

At this point I was still holding my follow-through, acting as if this was a normal drive for me, something I did with regularity. It was only when I bent down to retrieve my tee from the ground did I hear the scream.

“A-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h!!!!!!!”

Everyone sort of froze for a second, and then came the cry from one of the spectators at the top of the rise:

“Man down! MAN DOWN!”

Oh, good God.

We all ran up to the top of the hill, looked down, and to my horror saw a man lying prone in the middle of the fairway, holding his throat. Trust me, not what I wanted to see. He was moving though, so on the bright side he wasn’t dead.

Yet.

We jogged down the hill and to assess the damages, and were quick to discover I’d nailed him right in the side of the neck. In fact, you could see the dimple marks from the ball about two-inches below his right ear.

There was a doctor in the gallery who quickly determined my victim would live, albeit with a bruise the size of a softball on his neck. He was picked up and carried off on a golf cart, but not before shooting me a look of disgust.

What?

I could feel that look from several others as well, as if it was somehow my fault that this numbskull had decided to cut across the fairway during a golf tournament. One guy even had the nerve to say this:

“You know, you’re supposed to yell ‘FORE!'”

To which I replied:

“Really? On a drive straight down the fairway and over the top of a hill? Why didn’t YOU yell fore?”

Then again, maybe the guy I hit figured the middle of the fairway was the safest place to be with yours truly teeing off. Well, he figured wrong. And although I was sort of glad I didn’t kill him, I had no remorse at all for causing him bodily harm.

After all, the son-of-a bitch had probably taken 30-yards off my drive.

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