Part 1 -- The Testes Bros

Before I begin, I'd like to bring up something that's been bothering me lately. Personally, I feel the quality of my posts have started to decline. I haven't been feeling as inspired lately, and after some thought, I've narrowed it down to one reason. The past 4-5 days have been brutal. I am exhausted when I get home, and yet I still force myself to write when maybe there isn't something incredibly interesting to write about. And if I'm tired, not writing about anything interesting, and not really feeling inspired, that can only mean bad things for the post.

Perhaps I'm over-reacting, but lately I've been receiving some awesome feedback and so now I feel that I owe it to you, the reader, to be bringin' my A-Game whenever I sit down to write. From all that I've read about good writing, there are two things that keep popping up: firstly, you must write every single day in order to improve. Second, if you write often enough, inspiration will catch up with you.

So bear with me guys. I plan to continue posting as frequently as possible, but it may come at a cost for a little while.

So, no problem: I just need to re-focus a bit. Here we go.

So what the hell is up with this title? Testes Brothers?

Well, it all started Monday morning. I walked in at 7:30 thinking I was going to be paired up with the four best golfers from one club but at the last minute the boss stuck me with the four "best" golfers from somewhere else. I use the term "best" loosely, because in all actuality these guys sucked nutsack (hence my initial thoughts of the term "testes"). They were all crotchety old men who took their games too seriously and consequently ended up being the slowest players in the tournament.

YAAAAAAAAYYYY.

When I introduced myself to the first guy I ran into, he actually seemed pretty nice. A nice firm handshake and a smile. But then he asked the question I did NOT want to hear: "So, how familiar are you with these greens?"

Two things. First of all, I heard that as a caddie working in this tournament, you better know your shit. If you start screwing up, and that could be only once, the guys you're working for will not talk to you for the rest of the tournament. Secondly, I realize that I'm new to this course. I don't know a subtle break on these greens from a horse's ass. But because of the "quality" of play (again, I use the term loosely) in this tournament, the biggest, if not the ONLY job of the caddie is to READ THE GREENS.

So of course I can't tell this guy the truth. I have to lie. I have to play it off like I'm the man, and he doesn't know how stupid he is for asking me that question. So I lied. And it worked really well until the first hole we played.

"Tom, what do you see here?"

"Umm...one ball right."

"Nope, don't believe it."

And that was it. He ended up being right on the very first hole. So no more green reading for me. I was cut off. But now that I think about it, I'm really glad that I wasn't allowed to take part in that particular aspect of their suck-fest of a round. They were slow enough, and my participation would've added at least another 5 minutes of debate on every green. As it turned out, we finished in 5-1/2 hours. I'm so glad I didn't have any part in that, because when we got back, everyone was pissed. Especially the other caddies.

"Who the fuck were those guys?"

"What the hell is their problem?"

"That was ridiculous!"

Even the head professional made a comment to the players before they headed back out for the second 18. It was that slow. I didn't really have time to complain. I was originally set to have about 30 minutes to eat and chill before the second round, but now I had 5. I could only laugh. At that point, I was in hysterics because I still had 36 more holes to traverse with them by my side. Another round today, and then the final 18 tomorrow.

YAAAAAAAAYYY.

As I stuffed the sandwich down my throat, I started thinking about the players I was dealing with. The shortest of the four guys I was caddying for had a permanent frown surgically implanted on his face. It looked like a fish-mouth. That's it. It looked like a fish-mouth. I've been trying to think over the last two days about what I could compare his mouth to. And I think that's a perfect match. He always looked unhappy. Or he looked like he was smelling shit all day. Like he still had some shit up his nose from 15 years of ass-kissing.

And about this green reading thing. I suppose I should add that yes, I did in fact read some other greens, but the players never listened to me. What a pity. For it was on those holes that I got a little retribution.

"What do you think about this one Tom?"

I'd walk over after careful study, pick a mark, and give a little nod.

"Nope. There's no way it's that high."

And then he'd strike his putt, and miss on the low side. The other caddie would turn to me and give a little nod of respect. I had been right. And to me that's so frustrating. Sure, I feel good because I know I'm right and they're wrong, but I feel I could be helping these guys if I at least put in my two cents. But my team was too PROUD to admit that they may need another opinion to help them figure out a line. But again, I'm really glad they didn't. It definitely saved time and I would soon be on cruise control. I tell you, by the middle of the second round, I was really starting to lose focus.

"You're 124 from the front and the flag is 17 yards on, which means 136 to the flag."

What?

"I mean, 139."

"You mean 141?"

"Isn't that what I said?"

"No. You said 139."

"Oh. Well I meant 141."

It was horrible. I couldn't add or subtract anything outside of the single digits.

Holy crap. I just noticed a blister on my heel about the size of two quarters side-by-side. It's huge. PLEASE don't pop. Man that is going to be painful. I bought some new Dr. Scholls inserts the other day to help with this sort of thing. Hope I wasn't too late. And about that Dr. Scholls--I felt like I was playing Gran Turismo or something--I was upgrading some accessories to be faster and more stable around the turns. Man that blister better not pop. Watch me be carrying two bags soon and on the 3rd hole I feel my water break. Wow that sounds bad.

So where was I. Oh okay. So Mr. Permafrown had one other unique trait. He used a "side-saddle" putting stroke. He used a longer putter and stood behind and a little off to the side of the intended line. And from 10 feet and in, he made EVERYTHING. He made it look so easy. I mean, he looked really strange doing it, but if he's that successful with it, it may be worth looking into at some point. Wonder what Dave Pelz has to say about it. I know I have his Putting Bible lying around somewhere.

And while we're on the subject: Irish guys. Yeah, we had two of them playing with us today. How cool were we? They were great. Always happy and joking around. I mean sure, they played like crap and one of them almost killed the other on one hole by bouncing a shot off of a tree, but they never got down on themselves. Unlike my guys, who were virtually unapproachable after a bad shot was struck. Boy am I glad that happened on every hole.

That reminds me. These Irish guys. After one of them hit that tree and almost killed his playing partner, one of the guys I was caddying for said, "God they're awful. Those poor bastards." It was one of the most condescending comments I've ever heard. I almost blasted the guy for being an asshole, but then I remembered that he'd be tipping me, so I just stared at him for a moment.

(As an aside, I think sometimes the customer is only made to BELIEVE he or she is right because the party on the other end is trying to get a tip--random, but for the most part, true)

I was mad because these two Irish guys were always very friendly with me and were just out there having a good time. My team, however, was simply out to NOT have fun.

Wow I'm getting tired. I need to wrap this up. Okay, there were coolers and food set up every three holes so I made it a point to grab at least 2 apples, a banana, and a candy bar or two as often as possible. So, every three holes or so. What else. The weather was totally out of control: It was 65 and sunny, and then it rained for a bit and got down around 45, and then the temperature went up but it got really windy, and then it was blue skies, and then one black hole of a cloud swooped over for all of 10 minutes and dumped down hail. It was very strange having the sun in your face and hail hitting the brim of your hat. And finally, our last hole was an uphill--AN UPHILL--par-5. So running up a hill on my 36th hole felt great. Wonder where I got that blister.

And at the end of the round, I wasn't tipped.

"We'll catch you tomorrow."

I hope so. I hope so.

PS--I named my team "The Testes Brothers" because of their tee shots. They were always right in the middle of the fairway about 5 feet from each other. Sometimes one would be a little closer to the hole than the other, much like your nads are never always even. So that's it. Sorry I left out that part. But hey, that's why people use "PS": to illustrate what this part of the alphabet would look like if "Q" and "R" were eliminated (classic Mitch Hedberg quote).