Winter Golf Sucks Unless At a Resort

This is the time of year when golf nut friend Charlie tries to get me out to golf in the rain and wind. He loves it because he is a short knocker.

I don't. What says pain-in-the-ass like lift and place, winter rules golf?

It's hard to golf when you have so many layers you are more Michelin Man than Mickelson. Do you really want to carry a towel and wipe that ball all day long?

I know it's all relative. Like if you are from Michigan or Buffalo you think I am the whingingest sack-of-shit golfer ever from California. I am.

Golf was meant for 65-degrees and over, under blue skies. If I rip the ball and make good contact off the tee I expect 250-yards plus. I don't want great contact and 200 yards then plug. Or rooster tails of rain off my putt on a wet green. It's not golf.

So get my ass to Palm Springs or Arizona or Hawaii in the winter and I will enjoy my golf.

Oakland's Golf Goddess: Lake Chabot Golf Course

He showed up on the first tee one foggy Sunday afternoon at Lake Chabot Golf. He wore jeans, a plaid work shirt and sported a week's beard. He swigged from a whiskey pint. He stumbled to his ball. He smoothly striped the fairway, catching the downhill slope coming to rest 280 yards later. His name is Gary.

He parred the tough 400 yard first hole, parred the uphill par 3 160-yard second hole. He limped and grimaced. He disclosed, as if telling you the time of day, that he had some DUIs and that his wife had given him a ride to the course and would pick him up later. He was just getting warm.

Holes three and four are back to back uphill par 5s of about 480 yards that play like 500 and 520 yards. I learned to play at Lake Chabot and what I saw next I had never seen in 11 years of playing my home course. On the third hole he was just off the green in two; he chipped and made his birdie putt.

Gary pounded a drive on the 4th, another 270 yarder. His second shot, playing 220 yards uphill, found the green from a towering 5-wood. He missed his eagle putt but sank another birdie. In all my years I have never seen anyone on the fourth green in two strokes. Gary played the rest of the front nine about 1 or 2 strokes over, clutching his back and nipping whiskey. It was getting dark so we went our separate ways.

Gary was just another Lake Chabot critter. One of the reasons I love muni golf and my home course is the parade of characters like Gary. The other great golfer I had encountered there, a young guy from the hood, smoked a joint every three holes and finished the round two over par.

What makes a home course is that it's close to you, a 15 minute drive for me. Lake Chabot has had a resurgence lately because it's fixed the drainage, finally added colored flags and generally just tidied up. It's cheap, $10 to walk during the week for an Oakland resident.

I always walk the course. I know that it has 11 distinct uphill climbs. When I walk it the first time, if I have not played it in a while, I huff and puff. But the next time I play it I find my legs. People who don't play it often hate it. "I don't like the hills," they say. "The place doesn't have a flat lie," etc.

It has: deer, wild turkey, potheads, boozers, hacks, kids, geezers, ladies, Asians, college golfers and working stiffs. The fifth hole is next to a house with two German Shepherds that bark like hell as you line up your putt.

Chabot has serious design flaws. The road to the clubhouse runs through the center of five holes. Golfers and motorists dance oddly passing through, pausing for each other to go by. And yet I am not aware of any shattered windshields.

Many of the holes are cupped so that if you are somewhere near the fairway the ball funnels back towards the center. The ninth hole, a par 3, is off a cliff that drops about 200 yards down to a pie plate green. It's only about 6100 yards from the blues but plays more like 6500.

Up on the back nine you have spectacular views of Alameda, San Francisco and Hayward. The 18th hole is about 640 yards, 530 yards downhill, and is the only par 6 that I know.

I take refuge at Chabot. Cell phone reception is spotty so you can play hooky. Many times I just drop three or five balls near the green to work on my approach shots.

Over the years the City floats ideas of privatizing the course or selling it off to some fat cat. And yet these deals never happen.

Chabot will make you a better golfer.

A Tucson Venture

Spend the extra money and stay at the Arizona Inn. During the week you can get it for $140 a night, do it. First-class pool, rooms, etc. Classy, old-school digs.

Fresh off a month's chirorpractic after the last golf binge, I went to Tucson to play Tucson National and then El Conquiistador Country Club, both in the Oro Valley about a 20 minute drive north of Tucson. I would get so focused that I had to remind myself to look off at the nearby Catalina mountains, which provide the backdrop for both courses.

I got National for $60. This track is a classic layout. Played it from about 6610 yards but did not get much role due to humid conditions and a recent rain. You can score at this place, greens were a little on the slow side. It's the only par 73 on which I have played. The back nine has a few rolling hills.

My only knock on National was not enough signature holes. Eighteen was close, 400-plus dogleg right between two ponds, aim for the fountain in the middle and then hope you are inside 200 yards to an elevated green. Outstanding practice facilities. I managed an 89 here but did not feel that good about my game.

It threatened rain all day and doused us on the 10th hole for about 20 minutes. I had to play with a guy who claimed to be a 5-handicap but who started throwing clubs after his fourth consecutive 6. I take my golf seriously but if I wanted conflict and bad feelings I would just work. Guy was a straight-up douche.

The next day I popped for $40 at El Conquistador. Practice facilities are not very nice here, ratty mats on the range, no short game or putting area available and just a general feeling of cheapness. Staff seems jaded from all the play the place gets.

This was a tougher course than I thought, played from 6300 yards. The fourth hole was a par 4 with a desert strip making up about 150 yards. So to score on the hole you had to hit it about 225 yards to the edge of the sand and then blast over the hazard. I did not do this and took an ocho, lost ball drive, shanked lay up, into the sand, out, etc., etc.

It also had uphill and pretty tough par 3s. The front offered nothing surprising other than the desert-hazard hole.

The back nine at this place stood out for the changes in topography and thoughtful, challenging holes. The back has blind shots and elevated tee boxes. I would say the signature hole here is 16, a 410 yard dogleg left, then a downhill slope to an uphill, tiered green guarded in front by bunkers.

The greens role true but not lightning quick. (I developed an annoying problem with my irons in that I felt as if grip shifting just at impact, leading to weak hits.)

El Conquistador requires a lot more course knowledge than National, and the back nine at El Q. rocks. I blew at El Q., hitting a 98 but I am blaming 5 strokes on lack of course knowledge.

He's The Firestarter

In most rounds the biggest fear is: What if the beer-cart girl doesn't show soon? (Please read this to the tune of Firestarter in the clip below.)

But on a crackling, arrid, windy, summer day about six years ago at Poppy Ridge Golf in Livermore, Rean Dader's crisis was: What if I burn to death in a ring of fire that I started with my shot in tall, dry grass?

I had just recently met Rean when we drove an hour to the amazing course to strap it on against aged warriors Charlie "double socks" and David "the rudest man in golf." We were young and svelte then so Rean and I walked the course while the elder dudes galavanted in their cart. It had to have been about 95-degrees, with 25 mph winds and about 20-percent humidity. Or, what we call in California: Fire Weather.

The old dudes slapped their drives. I followed and split the fairway (uh, right.) Rean took a mighty cut and duffed one about 60 yards into the brown stuff in front of the tee box. The grass was taller than what you might find in an Oakland grow-house.

Rean, a stubborn Okie, would not reload on the 6th hole tee box at Merlot. Poppy has three 9 hole layouts with a wine theme, each named after, guess what, wine veriatals! The others being Zinfandel and Boone's Farm. No, Chardonnay.

I stood to the side slightly in front, looking ahead to spot his ball. Instead, I hear a "snap," like someone cracking a whip. I swivel my head and see Rean shaking his water bottle at little smoldering flames starting to leap near his legs. A spark from his club hitting a pebble must have caused it.

Soon, the flames encircled his waist and he had to run for it. He had gone down, down, down and the flames went higher. And it burned, burned, burned and became a ring of fire. Rean came and joined me as we tried to catch up to our partners. Groundskeepers saw the fire and tried to put it out with their hoses. Charlie just groused: "What took you guys so long?"

We finished out the hole at the same time the fire had spread and roared west down a hill towards the 7th hole on Merlot. Meanwhile, the course had activated every single sprinkler to try to fight the flames.

I recall the 7th hole so vividly because it might have been the only one I had parred in the round. Not only that, I hit all my shots through sprinklers and smoke. My 50-foot putt parted water on the green and sank into the hole for my miracle 4 on the 400 yard par four. Shades of Caddyshack.

The flames kept spreading west. The course crews had lost and had to call in the California Department of Forestry. I guess that about 20-acres burned. One CDF member suffered a sprained ankle on the hill.

We somehow kept playing. Charlie could care less about the inferno as it was slowing HIS round. Rean had turned white. At the turn he gave his name to course management. A few holes later he gave a statement to a CDF captain. Course management was sort of kissing his ass, letting slip that another golfer had been burned in a similar accident.

To this day we regret that Rean did not try to parlay the incident into free golf for life. We were just back there the other day and are proud to report the landscape is recovering but still slightly charred.

Poppy ranks as one of my favorite Bay Area spots. It is fun golf without too much pretense and has a fantastic range, short game area and putting greens. You can get mid-week rounds with a cart for about $50. Poppy Ridge, Feel The Burn.

Coyote Bites Golfer's Wallet!

I have played most high-end, public courses in the Bay Area. Coyote Creek golf in San Jose clipped me for $80 recently on a mid-week round and it definitely WAS NOT WORTH IT.

You can get on Stonetree in Marin, Wente in Livermore or Poppy Ridge for under $80, and those courses are all better and more interesting. Coyote, a Jack Nicklaus venture, is worth about $45 but I guess because it's Silicon Valley it's going to stick it to people. The other courses I mentioned also provide not just better golf but a better golf experience.

For years I had driven by Coyote Creek on U.S. 101. It has two courses, Tournament and Valley, that always looked extremely golfy and inviting. My friend Bete Planchfield and I finally decided to take the plunge.

I looked at the scorecard and decided to play the Tournament course from the whites, about 6400 yards, since it had a hefty slope of 137. The front nine proved interesting, though too many holes alongside the freeway with power-lines directly over head. Some of us golf to escape, and a roaring highway doesn't help.

The first sign something was wrong was on the second hole when my ball found a large puddle in a trap, on a sunny dry day at 11 a.m. A decent course should not have a mother-effing puddle in a green-side trap. I noticed the traps did not have sand as much as a semi-cement.

The greens were good, receptive but true and pretty quick. The front had some fun dogleg holes, back to back par 5s, some gimmicky short par 4s and manageable par 3s. But the design feature of this course soon became apparent--little marshes in the middle of the par 5s or just in front of the greens on the par 3s.

You can score well on this course because of the ease of the par 3s, broad fairways and rough that allows you to make productive shots.

Play was a little slow and of course not a marshal in sight.

The back nine was boring, flat and nothing terribly noteworthy. The course does not have a signature hole.

My partner hit a sand shot and gasped in horror. Not at his shot but at the tar-like goo clinging to his wedge. Apparently, the traps don't have enough sand in them so he must have dug his club into the liner, which is often comprised of recycled tire shreds.

By the time we got to about the 15th hole the attention spans had shrunk. We both looked at each other and said: We paid $80 for this?

It's not a bad course. But if you are going to charge a premium you have to provide a bit more. The range and practice areas are large and in good shape.

Shot an 88, 41-47, despite a blow-up from a blown flop shot, a butchered par 3 and an approach that found water on the 17th.

Diversity San Diego Style? Golf Courses!

Just got back from "man-cation" 2010 edition, to San Diego, where we played four vastly different courses in 48 hours. We hacked just north of San Diego in Carlsbad/Oceanside. By the last round, golf had lost some of it's appeal for this 13.2 handicapper.

We played: Oceanside, The Crossings at Carlsbad, Arrowood and La Costa Golf Resort (south course). Arrowood was my favorite, for a combination of value, fun, experience, etc. I would have appreciated La Costa more but my lats were going to fall off and I just couldn't muster the passion to care about golf. Even the Mad Golfer has his limits.

The rounds ranged from $19 at Oceanside to $100 at La Costa, after we stayed a night on a freebie. (La Costa would cost about $500 with a stay and play, I guess.) Oceanside/Carlsbad is 30 minutes north of San Diego airport. Arrowood was $30 and The Crossings was $75. The cheap rounds at Oceanside and Arrowood were twilight deals and we finished each in about three and half hours with a cart.

The action began at Oceanside, pulling up in our under-powered, gas guzzling PT Cruiser rental. Classic muni-golf. Flat except for two hilly holes. Course is a little ratty but that's part of the charm. You know, one of those places where the range balls come onto the course to utterly confuse you when you look for your ball. A lot of dog-legs. Fresh energy fueled us to come in each a little under 90. Not bad for playing from the blue tees on a new track. (We bunked at the baby-shit yellow La Quinta in C-Bad, which included a boffo breakfast.)

We hit the local Ocean's 11 Casino post-round, where I met a couple guys who had just golfed La Costa. I cornered them. "What's the Crossings like, what's La Costa like and where else would you play," I badgered them. One of the dudes was a cross between Drew Carey and the old SNL androgynous skit character Pat. "I hate the crossings, that place has all blind shots," he moaned, nursing about his 11th Corona of the evening. They recommended Arrowood and said that we had better play the south course at La Costa because the north side's greens had just been punched. The other dude said that the rough at La Costa was incredibly thick....Word.

The Crossings has mind-blowing layout and blind shots, jets, wires, water in front of greens, etc. The problem is that you would have to play it about seven times to get a clue about the layout, green contours, etc. The place apparently had a budget of $13 million when it was finished five years ago but came in at $70 million from all the permit snags. From a physical engineering perspective it's like the Great Wall of China or The Great Pyramids. No lie.

On the third tee-box the jet roared 1,000 feet above my back swing. What inner voice? Duffer 40 yards in front of me. Effing jet.

This place takes up like 12 square miles. One hole you have to take a bridge to and from it. We finished in 5 hours but 30 minutes of that was drive time, 20 minutes was driving to look at your next shot and 20 was looking for your ball. We joined a retired couple, with the 60-something "dragon" wife sporting tight white pants.

Two of the toughest back to back par 5s were on the back nine. The really dumb thing about the course is that they took up butt-loads of land and yet they have about three 115-yard par 3s--it was as if they tried to cram them into the course design. I had a huge meltdown on the last three holes as my partner had a pretty amazing 88. The greens were really inconsistent.

We hit Arrowood after the Crossings and a quick In and Out Burger. Peckerwood had the best fairways, broad with texture. The front proved fair, what-you-see, what-you-get-golf with the back bringing the wood. The signature hole is 16, out of a chute off a hill, downhill to an island green. Eighteen also finishes over water, and I watched a great back nine disappear with an approach into the water. I went 48, 41 and should have cracked 40 on the back.

Arrowood features rolling hills and just a comfortable, family friendly vibe. We finished in 3.5 hours and never had to wait.

La Costa has a simple, classic layout but the rough munches your ass and balls like no other (that was dirty!). If you go off the fairway forget about making a great shot--just punch out. Narrow openings to the greens and it's all heavily bunkered. It's flat.

They host PGA tournaments and have bizarre cement monuments up --like where Tom Watson was called for a penalty for giving Lee Trevino some helpful swing advice, where Tiger thumped Steven Ames after Ames talked shit about his drives, and where Phil Mickelson drove pin high on a dog leg 330-yard hole. (It's as if they are equating moments in golf with the battle of Gettysburg or something.)

La Costa south had slow greens and fun par 3s. My mind turned to every thing butt golf on the back nine. My friend whipped me. I was down $20 going into 18 and pressed double or nothing. We both hit miracle third shots to bogey the hole. I finished with maybe just under 100.

La Costa is one of those places that are good to visit once. Oh. Hit the resort's pool area, also known as "Milf Island."

That's What She (He) Said

There is no better game for double entendres. Consider:

"I want to get inside you."

"Do you want me to pull it?" "No, leave it in."

"Can you hand me my putter?"

"That was so close to going in the hole."

"That rimmed the hole and then lipped out."

"Knock it stiff!"

"Mine's longer than yours."

"Ram it home."

"Nice touch."

"You're still away from the hole."

"He's very long."

"I have to use the ball washer."

A Buick to Dullsville?

My friend Alex and I both retired from rugby after 20 years. He asked, "Can you name any boring rugby players?"

I thought long and hard. I had a couple names of the more than 500 guys I had met through rugby but none stood out as insanely dull. Alex said that if it weren't for my job as a private investigator, that I could pass for boring. He's right. His theory is that only weird angry dudes play rugby and stay with it despite the guaranteed emergency room visits.

I played rugby in my 20s and 30s with guys named: Rug-burn, Sideshow, Chief, Crazy Mike, at least three Mad Dogs, Nick The Cop, Dr. Worm Sex, Smelly, Penis Guts, Wee Man, Angry Charles, Jimmy The Cone, Doctor, Sick Rick, Simbo, Pineapple Pete, Nipple, The Explorer, The Silver Fox, Pete the Dumb Animal, The Mayor, The Vanilla Gorilla, The Mayor of Modesto, The Rock, The Comet, Vag-Eno, Chunk, Uncle Cock Block, etc.

Now I have golf....zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz. I have yet to talk nicknames with golfers. Sure, we might have a beer but then it's home to our wives, families, jobs. The lyrics from Joe Walsh's Average Ordinary Guy apply to golfers, "And Every Saturday we work in the yard. Pick up the dog do. Hope that it's hard."

Are you boring and discover golf or does golf make you boring? It's a little of both. Because to be good at any one thing you have to exclude being good at others, which puts you in the Buick to dullsville. Look at most engineers or accountants. And what's the joke, accountants call actuaries dull? To become decent at golf is to become obsessed and single-minded.

Consider Twitter and the tweets of pro golfers. An example of the blandness that pervades the game is Natalie Gulbis, essentially a Playboy bunny with a 260-yard drive. Her tweets include: "Shot a 68 and off to the gym," "Sunny Day here in Toledo" and, "Now heading for quick workout and a movie." Wowsers!

Let's deconstruct the tweets of young pro Rickie Fowler. His bon mots include "Go Time," "Off to bed...night night" and "Now that was a great nap." He is putting himself to sleep!

Tiger Woods spiked his lifetime excitement meter with A) a mysterious car crash and B) Disclosures that he was getting more ass than a toilet seat. Jim Rome memorialized Tiger with the Robot Woods sound loop. Tiger embodies the downsides of narrow, laser focus.

I accept the trade-offs but only if I become a single digit handicap. I am ripping on a game I am passionate about. Most of us don't have the mindset for serious golf until we are into our 30s, when I started playing. For playing the game well, boring is good.

The Bitch of Mare Island Golf

If Mare Island and I were dating, she could do more pull-ups than I and belch the alphabet. She would have "love" and "hate" tats on her knuckles, dress me in a skirt and dog collar and then spank me for not licking her golf spikes clean. But I would come back for more.

In sport we always hear about "match-ups." The Globetrotters own the Generals. Ghana has the USA's number in soccer, etc.

Mare Island Golf course in Vallejo dominates me. In my 11 years of golf I have broken 90 at every Bay Area public course except this track. I am decent, the handicap is now down to 13. Let me tell you why this course is The Punisher.

Some perspective. The place is a par 70 and yet the course record is only a 2-under 68. The course has a slope of 124 and should be more like 135. The blue tees are a mere 6,150 yards and the rating is 70.4. In a world of good golfers the best on this track is a 68. That is astounding.

The Mare does not care how you feel about your game. It is not a resort course for you to pound your chest and exult about your golf prowess. ( I usually walk the course too but I can't blame poor performance on fatigue.)

It has tiny greens. It has blind shots. It has crazy elevation changes. It never lets you have driver in hand every hole. Since the court is short-ish, it makes the most use out of uphill holes. Traps guard every single hole. The green-side traps at the top of hills come with extra steep lips

But my real theory for why I never break 90 is it only has 3 par 3s and one par 5. Two of the par 3s are tough, the one a thread-the-needle 190 yarder down a canyon and the other a 223-yard uphill over water. So you are not going to post 2s on your card. With only one par 5, you don't have many birdie opps. There are few chances to offset the 6, the 7 and the Snowmen that will be on your card.

Not counting the first tough par 3, the first 5 holes are benign. Then come the tough holes: a 347 uphill bender blocked on the left and right, 380- yard uphill par 4 to a sloped green no more than 40-feet in diameter, the uphill 220 yard par 3 over water and a 370 yard 9th hole uphill with a blind second shot if you don't drive it 250 yards over the crest.

The back is even tougher. On the back you really should just put away the driver and focus on hitting your spots with low irons or a utility off the tee. The 15th is straight uphill 354-yarder par 4. I cranked a drive and was about a 130 yards out, reached for my 6 iron, missed the green by 2-feet and fell back into one of steep traps. Missed first sand shot, flew the green with 4th, over hit downhill green on the way back and just quit on the hole.

You then get up to the top of 16 and its usually 30-mph cross-wind with tons of traps down below. The only bunny on the course is the par 3 17th and then you finish with an uphill par 4, 430-yarder with another tiny green.

If you break 90 here you are an hombre duro.

Stats for The Hack

It's only taken me a new set of Mizuno irons, a new Callaway driver, playing once or twice a week and practicing once or twice a week to get the handicap to 13. Why am telling you this? Because I bore my wife to tears with golf talk and only another golf nut would understand.

This is how I track my improvement. Pros are all into driving distance, greens in regulation, fairways hit, etc. That stuff is bullshit for the bogey golfer. It would be like a beer-league softball player keeping a hit chart. Here's how I break down a scorecard:


Penalty Strokes: When I stink they creep up to 10. Case in point, I was at the Bridges last month in San Ramon and pulled a 97. I had eight penalty strokes. Granted, the place is the hardest track in the Bay Area with a slope of 139 from the whites, which are just over 6,000 yards. (Slope is a measure of difficulty not actual elevation.)

I played at Stone Tree in Marin, slope of 123, and shot an 83 on Friday--with three penalty strokes--then played Sunday at the stunning Wente vineyards in Livermore where I shot an 85 and only had one penalty. And, on the hole where I had the penalty, I ended up getting par because I sank a 40-foot putt. Wente has a slope of 131 for about 6,250 yards.

Putts: You are playing decently if you have near 30 putts. Anything in the mid-30s and I will show you a scorecard with a few ochos, aka the snowman.

T-Shots: In this stat I just ask myself did I have a legitimate shot at par off my T-shot, whether it's a par 3 or a par 5? If I hit behind a tree and have to punch out, no I did not have a good T-shot. If I hit a skyball 100 yards high and 100 yards long, I did not do my job. If I hit off a par 3 but have an easy chip from near the pin or can putt from off the green then I am going to count it as a good T-shot.

So at the round in Marin where I pulled an 83 out of my butt --but not too far up the butt-- I was 13 of 18 off the tee. Did I hit fairways all the time? Hell no, but I put the ball in a place where I was not blocked and could make something good happen.

My friend Dean and I talk a lot about not GIR but AGIR, almost greens in regulation. A Green in Regulation is pretty much a measure for how many birdie opportunities you have. For the bogey golfer, an AGIR is a measure of how many par opportunities you might have. As a long time bogey golfer and errant driver of the ball, I am used to stuff like hitting miracle chips and pitches just to save bogey.

So there you have it. Those are the only stats you need.

What Type of Miscreant Are You?

We have all come across these characters when we golf. Heck, we are them too. Who hasn't thrown or smashed a club in anger? Find your type!

Bong and Beer Division:

The Stoner: If you play with just one stoner you might not notice he is baked out of his mind. But if you get stuck with two stoners they will tell stoner jokes, toss tees at each other and just think that they are 10 x funnier than they really are. One of them might actually be pretty good for a few holes. Stoners love Lake Chabot and Willow Park golf courses in the East Bay.

Drunk-No Talent: This person is not even playing golf. He just wants two beers a hole and will try to get the cooler onto the golf cart. The drunk will ruin your outing. This is the guy who unfastens the straps holding your clubs to the cart.

Drunk With Game: This golfer needs his booze and hits the Jameson or otherhard liquor. He likely has three DUIs to his name and his wife has to give him rides to and from the course. I have golfed with this guy at Lake Chabot. Drunk With Game would get the DTs if he did not have his aiming fluid. It's amazing how skilled he still is and can do things like reach par 5s in two.

Cigar Smoker: You are not cool. You just smell worse than ass.
o

General Jack-Ass Category:

Play-By-Play Man: The chatterbox who offers running commentary on every shot, every lie, every club selection and every goddamn blade of grass on the course--whether you want to hear it or not. This is one tedious motherfucker. Shut up. I repeat, shut the fuck up.

The Bitcher--also known as the Course Snob: If the course is too wet, he complains. Sand not fluffy enough, he complains. This golfer tends to be a retired guy with money who plays a ton of resort and desert golf. He cannot grasp that a course where he just paid $28 for, including cart, might not be as nice as his club in Scottsdale. Hey, it's just golf so shut up and hit your 7-wood you old coot.

The Complainer--Cousin of the above but more blames the course for his shortcomings. How could putt not have dropped, how could that drive not have found the fairway, why did my ball not stay on the green, who put that tree there? He complains about everything but fails to admit his game just flat out sucks.

Paralysis by Analysis Dork -- Too cerebral for his own good. He will waggle, waggle and waggle some more. Sergio Garcia has nothing on this tedious fellow for grip, grip, grip, grip, grip....wait., grip, grip, check my stance, practice swing, grip, grip. Hit the fucking ball! You can line the ball up six ways to Sunday and you will still chunk it, hit it thin, spray it, etc. Stop reading and watching and listening to golf instruction. Golf is a game of imperfect so more play and less inner-debate, oakey dokey fella?

Slow Casual Golfer: Golfer does not play enough to understand simple courtesy aspects that speed along play, such as putting cart or clubs at back of green so that when you are done with the hole you can just speed onto the next one and let the group behind you hit without further delay. This same golfer has no idea about his own lack of skills and will be 225 yards out but will keep waiting to hit because he thinks he will hit into the group on the green. Hey sport, if you hit your 5 irons 155 yards and straight you should start dancing because no chance in hell you are reaching the green from that far out.

Equipment and Outfit Snob -- This player dresses to the nines, maybe even with a gay little belt that matches his shoes, has the Scotty Cameron putter and special covers for every single club in his $500 bag. He might even belong to a country club. But his money can't buy a golf swing and he still fucking sucks and always will. Find this guy and play him for money because he will tank. This guy might fool you at first with his look and mannerisms but he's a classic case of looks like Tarzan and hits like Jane.

Impatient Golfer--This is the asshole racing by you to get to the pro shop but then will hit into you if he has to wait more than 30 seconds. This golfer thinks there is always an opening somewhere if he can just find it. He will spend 25 minutes driving the cart all over the course to find one hole that he can have to himself.

Business Dork With Cell Phone - Society has progressed to the point where we tolerate cell phones more than we once did. Just don't bring one out on the golf course. Want to check your messages and return a call at the turn? Fine. You are not going to land the deal of the century taking calls on the course. Unless your woman is in labor or you have a family emergency, do not take calls during MY GOLF OUTING. Oh, and lose the Dockers.

Filthy Cheaters:

Mulligan Man -- We are playing a match. You play or practice three times a week and you want a mulligan? Fuck you. Have some pride and be a man.

Winter Rules in Summer: This cheat is always asking you if he can improve his lie because there is some alleged defect in the course.

Can't Count Dude -- The math-challenged golfer tends to blur his chips and putts. "No, I saw you. You lost one off the tee. Had an unplayable, were on in 5 and then 3-putted. And you want a 6? How the fuck do you figure that?" Bill Clinton was this type of guy.

I Want to Get Close To You -- Tough call here but why are you standing three feet from me in the T-box and standing in my back swing where ever I am on the course? Give me some space, chief.

Sentenced to a 14 to 15-handicap...

Hello,

You are reading this because you are bored and even worse an average golfer.

My story. I had some clubs as a kid but thought all the guys I knew who played golf in high shools were a bunch of stiffs in sweater vests. They went to college at places like Furman and aspired to play college golf. My greatest shot where I caddied once, Rolling Hills County Club in Wilton, Conn., was playing on caddy day and seeing a squirrel 40 yards away from me. I threw a golfball at it, nailed it on the head in one bounce and it was last seen twitching its way back into the woods. (I do feel badly, and I became an animal lover after the incident.)

Fast forward to the Northgate Golf Course outside of Reno about 11 years ago. I am about to play in a tournament against some fellow private investigators. Many of these guys are so fat they can barely get out of their Cadillacs. They were so fat that when they sat around the house, they sat around the house. They had more chins than a Chinese phone book. When they wore corduroy pants and walked, their thighs set off forest fires. I can't lose to these piles of goo. But lose I did. Ever since that day in the windswept parking lot I have been hooked on golf.

I like the game but can do without the pomp and nonsense that surrounds it. The worst are the hushed and reverential tones that TV saves for the tournaments. And now that we know Tiger likes to get his freak on like any pro baller why should these guys get special treatment.

I am about to turn 45 and bought new Mizuno Irons and a new Calloway Driver. I tend to shoot under 90 more than over 80. I love the Bay Area golf courses.

This blog will be about my rants and raves. My golf partners. My fist-pumping celebrations when I win $6 off the aging poetry professor, etc. My wife tunes out when I ramble on about golf so you will have to cope. Until next time, "Hit 'em straight."