Friday, June 03, 2005

I Am A Dumbass / God-like Being

So I think it's safe to say that right now, my body feels like one big dry-heave.

That's right. I went there.

There are three areas of interest right now: my butt cheeks, my stomach, and my shoulders. The shoulders are obvious. You're carrying heavy bags for 6 miles over uneven terrain. Of course your shoulders will freakin' hurt. And the stomach? I think that hurts from trying to stay upright. You see, I had two small PLANETS on my shoulders that both really wanted to collide with earth. So I had to keep flexing my abs to counteract all those crazy orbits and gravitational forces. I mean, I'll be damned if I'm going to let a couple of planets hit MY HOUSE. And then my butt-cheeks. I think in all my years of being alive, I have NEVER encountered sore butt cheeks. And God willing, I never will again. You know, the only reason I can come up with for my butt being sore was that I was trying my best not to get raped. The bags were bad enough. There's no way I was letting my players perpetuate this prison shower of a day with a stereotype.

"Oh hey, Tom? I just dropped my ball. Could you go pick it up and clean it?"

Nice try. But out here, I'm nobody's bitch. You couldn't pull a pin out of my ass with a tractor right now.

You know, I really don't know what I was thinking. Before the round even started I had lifted the bags and dropped a small load in my pants. These bags were ridiculously heavy. They easily weighed over 50 lbs a piece. It was raining today, so of COURSE the player's I'm working with brought anything they could think of.

"Hey Tom, do you mind if I throw another dozen balls in my bag?"

ANOTHER dozen?

"Hey Tom, these baby-booty's I had bronzed a while back? Yeah, I'm going to throw that in my bag. I think I may throw in my baseball card collection too in case we run into a drifter out there with that rare Ken Griffey Jr. 1989 Upper Deck rookie-card I've been looking for."

"Oh yeah, that's no problem."

Tom, you're a dumbass, and you deserve to be hurting as much as you do right now.

And, predictably, by the middle of the round the sky cleared and the temperature went up a few notches. So my players started stripping.

"BOY am I glad I wore these special 'anchor' pants today. They weigh a little more to help keep me down over the ball. But to be honest, they were getting a little heavy and I'm glad I get to take them off. Here you go, Tom...(cough) little bitch (cough)."

Or, "Tom, I brought my barbell set with me today just in case...oh who am I kidding. I just threw them in the bag because I CAN."

And my guys were all OVER the place today. One of my players couldn't hit ANYTHING consistently. After a while, I ran out of viable options for him on the tee.

"Tom, what do you think I should hit here?"

"How do you feel about 'throwing' it?"

SHANK. How the hell is that possible? Are you secretly cross-eyed or something?

Throughout the whole round I kept hoping that when I finished there was some pimped out "caddie scale" in the cart barn where caddies could triumphantly walk onto the platform after the round was over and take some pride in the fact that they were able to lift all that weight.

I was probably up around 300 lbs today. And yes, I'm proud of that. But I keep thinking that I'm either going to be ripped or a cripple after this is all over. Maybe both. What would my doctor say?

"Yes, Tom. You have broad shoulders, abs of steel, and you could probably break my hand off with your butt-cheeks. My ass was nice and toned after I got out of prison, too. But that's not important right now. What IS important is that all of this exercise has limited your mental capacity for twisting off the top of an Oreo cookie. I'm sorry son. I know this is terrible news."


You know, I wonder WHY I was having trouble keeping up today. Initially I just thought it was because my guys were all over the place and they weren't giving me a chance to do my job. But now I'm thinking: hey. I weighed over 300 lbs today. That's like making Fat Albert run the 400 against Richard Simmons. I mean SURE it would be a fruity race, but Fat Albert would definitely LOSE.

On the 14th hole one of my players' turns to me.

"You know Tom, I don't ask for much. But could you PLEASE keep up?"

Everybody started laughing. One of the other players jumped all over that one.

"Well for Christ's sake, the kid's already been up and down this hole 3 times already. Maybe if you guys kept it in the fairway he could do his job."

Sad, but true. And yes, I was in some pretty awful pain. Like on 9, I thought I miscarried. And that was tragic. My stomach kept cramping up. I felt like I had just participated in a pie-eating contest on the diving board over a pool. And just after I finished, somebody punched me in the stomach, uttered something Anti-Semitic, and pushed me in. I'm not Jewish, but the comment still hurt like hell.

So yeah, I was in all this pain. But it felt good to have EVERYBODY in the foursome know that I was working my ass off. Because from my perspective, I was late to every green and my players' were waiting a little longer than they should've been for their clubs. But I mean come on. I was a FATASS today. But they all seemed to understand.

And at the end, you could tell how bad these two player's felt. I mean there were a few times today that they helped me carry a bag because I was off in Narnia defeating an army and poking some lion in the face. There always seemed to be at least ONE player that hooked it over into Narnia. And that Witch must LOVE golf balls. I easily lost 6 or 7 today.

But they HAD to have felt how heavy those bags were. Which is why they HAD to make my wallet a little heavier by the end of the day.

And I know this "Narnia" movie isn't out yet. But I think everyone would agree that it's a "faraway" place. I think the only way you can get there is through a freakin' magic door. Hooking it through that door is a hell of a shot. Glad I witnessed it. On several occasions.

"So this was probably your worst loop yet, right?"

Oh no way. But it was definitely the heaviest.


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