Ducking golf balls and scaring geese

Spring Break!
The one good thing about running your own business, and I get to go with about a dozen other guys to the Ozarks and play golf each spring.
We do some other things, too. For some reason bowling has become a thing, and there always has to be some incentive involved. It’s usually not cash, but something that makes Dan Fullenkamp dial in.
But we play golf every day for five days and these wonderful guys put up with my inconsistencies with patience and humor. I missed my second ever hole-in-one by about four feet, and that was my shot of the week on the course.
However, the most memorable shot of the week was the “Goldberg” I put on a guy in our foursome. His brother egged me on and the dude was a little slow at the address, so I full on tackled him on the tee-box. In deference to me, I did hold him up a little on the way to the ground, but the look on his face as I straddled above him with my tongue waggling was too much for the other two.
At some point, you realize you’re just bad. So you become the class clown. That’s kind of my role. But if I’m playing well, I stay within the game and try to score. Once that’s out of the picture, it’s time to get into the cartside cooler.
On Wednesday I played with a really good group and didn’t hold my own. I was in jail most of the round, which for those reading who don’t play golf means your ball gets in a bad spot. I kept finding trees and they kept finding me. I got frustrated at one point and, without a clear path out of the timber, I grabbed a 5-iron. I pulled back slowly and came through hard with a great click. The ball hit the tree about eight feet in front of me and fired right back. I tilted my head back and to the left and heard the ball spin by my right ear.
I looked at my partner for a second and chuckled, “Well, that just happened.”
From that point on, my partner reminded me regularly when I was in trouble, to get out of trouble. Meaning, just hit it somewhere safe. Usually, safe means someplace where you can get a good shot on the next swing. At this point, I think he was telling me to not knock myself out with a ricochet.
On our last day, I was playing with someone I hadn’t played with before. He had an issue on a par 3 over some water about 200 yards out so we drove down to a closer tee box and let him hit from there. He hit a skimmer right at a goose on the pond, the ball skipped about four feet in front of the large bird and right over the top of it into the embankment across the water.
This goose stopped swimming and, I’m not joking, looked right at us. This was not the birdie Greg was looking for. And geese can be mean on a golf course, especially if you’re hitting them with golf balls.
There were good putts throughout the week…and bad putts. My favorite shot of the week was from Ted Moeller who hit an iron on a par 3 that went way left, caught the top of the tree, went up and to the right and came down on the green. I’m sure that’s not that uncommon, but talk about using the whole course. Ted also yanked a drive and cleared a home down the left side of the fairway.
Playing with the likes of local legacy names of Fedler, Menke, and Fullenkamp keeps you humble, but appreciative that people who have had such a lasting impact on Lee County would allow this ham-and-egger to hang out for a week, is heart-warming. But that could’ve also been the Fireball and Rumchata shots that were created on the fly on day one.
I was always happy to wrap up the day and head to the clubhouse for a Bloody Mary, or a local watering hole for pizza and darts.
When we got back to the homes we rented on the lake, we always played cards and watched golf on television. I’ve been playing Euchre for more than two decades, but I didn’t win a single hand of Euchre. My partners were all bad. No help. You have to count on your partner for a trick unless you go alone they don’t get it. And none of these guys ever cuts the deck. They just pound their palm on the table. And then three tricks into the hand all the cards come flying in and I’m like, “WTH?!?!”
They slide shuffle and done flutter shuffle. I don’t trust the full separation of cards. I mean statistics say you have to flutter shuffle at least seven times for a random deal. But I’m the baby in the group and haven’t yet earned my wings, so I just kept my mouth shut, quietly sauntering away from the table after yet another shellacking.
We snacked on a variety of savory sausages, cheeses, crackers. The occasional cigar gets fired up on the deck overlooking the lake as aged fisherman look over the balcony and spot for those down on the dock casting small, colored lures into the dark water.
I saw one good size crappie, not sure it was the biggest ever caught by any human who ever traversed the banks of the lakes of the Ozarks, but it was impressive. And quickly fileted for a trip home. Otherwise, the fish weren’t hungry for the multitude of teasers these farmers were throwing out there. But I loved watching them try. All of these guys are part of my therapy. Even if Larry Kelch carries me a round of best ball, it's the socialization, conversation, laughter, memories, and anticipation of next spring, or even next weekend getting together for 18 holes. It's grounding and much appreciated as a breath of fresh air.
Finding that air just seems to be easier in the middle of Missouri. I would wake up and walk to the front of my assigned room that looked out over the lake, take a picture and hit the shower because, at 7:30 a.m., if you aren’t helping with breakfast, there’s something seriously wrong with you.
Don't bet against that being the Rumchata and Fireball too…but that’s Beside the Point.
Chuck Vandenberg is editor and co-owner of Pen City Current and can be reached at Charles.V@PenCityCurrent.com.