Clear Springs Golf Course in Chisholm, ON east of Powassan and not far from North Bay is one of my favourite places to curse at clubs and balls. Sometimes myself.
My father and son have also enjoyed the course and the time we spent there together. I highly recommend it. The photo above was actually taken during a priceless round with my little guy (when he was still cute and friendly).
This column, however, is about something that happened elsewhere, at another place during one of the last times I had the opportunity to golf with Dad.
We've pulled balls out of water hazards in Ohio, Pennsylvania and too many courses to count between Sault Ste. Marie, Sudbury and Ottawa, plus a few more. So don't go guessing which place it was. It could have happened at any one of them and, sometimes, it sort of does by lesser degrees.
But this instance, the current bur in my saddle, came when pops was just starting to take shorter steps. He had recently gave up on the idea of walking the course, something he well into his 70s. I'm pretty sure he carried his bag most of the way through his 60s. He was like a little Irish billy goat. At this specific point, he was getting in and out of the riding cart a bit slower. And with his 'faithful 100-yard, straight down the middle, every time shot' lost to the ages, there were a lot more starts and stops with the cart.
Enter the asshole club member who is in a rush to get out of the beautiful weather. They're at every course. The guy who thinks it's his sworn duty to harass slow players with an extra heaping of arrogance in his method.
Obviously, he was lacking the cognitive powers to realize how backed up the course actually was with four slow foursomes in a row ahead of us.
The very next hole, I let Mr. Snarky Moustache through and then, of course, tried with all my might to fly one over his head at first chance. It's probably best my slice was in full force that day and I missed.
I can still see my dad's face, after he waited for the asshole to pass out of earshot, then apologized to me for being so slow. Screw him and the donkey he rode in on, we eventually agreed.
Gentlemen, if there's just one thing to consider this summer golf season, for those members who are trying to break records for the fastest club house nine, maybe think twice. Those non-member green fees are significant sources of revenue that keep the annual fees down. Relax out there, pass when it's open ahead or just sit back and enjoy the day.
Slow your roll, that slowpoke duffer out there might be you in 40 years. And Alzheimer's sucks.
Thankfully, I also recall many good experiences golfing with the little Irish billy goat, including every time at Clear Springs (the annual 3-person scramble is May 26, by the way).