GOLFING DETOUR

GOLFING DETOUR

Today it was back to the golf course to play nine holes.  I could play all eighteen holes, but I would be wiped out and suck on the back nine, so playing just nine holes is fine.  I walk, dragging my clubs on a cart so it is still pretty good exercise. 

On my way to the course I was plotting how I would bust Ernie the dick’s chops (see http://joeh-crankyoldman.blogspot.com/2015/08/no-chipping.html ). I figured since he made such a big deal out of not allowing practice chipping behind the first tee where there is no sign saying practice chipping was not allowed, that I would make a point of asking if it was ok to practice chipping behind the first tee.  I was then going to ask why not, then ask why there was no sign, and then ask if it was necessary to be a dick when you tell people that you are not allowed to practice where there is no sign saying you could not practice.

That was my plan, but then I started thinking that one, Ernie is probably too stupid to get that I would be just busting his chops, two, I was not sure I could positively identify Ernie as half the dudes working the course are old fat short dudes with a slight limp, and finally I realized I would only get my own juices boiling and that is not conducive to playing golf.  The game requires a relaxed mentality.

So fuck Ernie, let’s just go play golf, nice and relaxed. 

The course is about twenty minutes from my house.  After nineteen minutes of driving, and less than three hundred yards from the course entrance, I ran into a “Road Closed, Detour” sign and a cop car blocking the way.

This course is in one of the few parts of central Jersey that is actually somewhat farm like.  The detour to the course was east eight miles, north five miles, west eight miles and south five miles.  It took me an extra forty minutes to get to the course. 

When I finally got there I saw the road work that sent me on this cross country trip.  The road crew was repairing a five by ten foot section in one lane of the road.  There were three people working on the hole and four people watching, plus two cops and a cop car not to mention the cop and car three hundred yards down the road.  The road by the way is not heavily traveled. 

Now I was pissed again.  It took me forty minutes of driving because this crew could not station traffic controllers to direct traffic safely past the five by ten section of road under repair.  Hell, the detour signs alone must have taken them an hour to put up and probably would take another hour to take them down.

So without getting into tiff with Ernie the dick, I was still not in a relaxed frame of mind.

I called Mrs. Cranky and let off steam about the detour.  She listened patiently and added the appropriate “Wow” and “Oh my” and “That’s just ridiculous” until I was calmed down and ready to play.

Hey, what are wives for?  Well lots, but listening and not calling me a jerk for complaining about my rough life because my golf was delayed forty minutes is certainly one very good trait.

Anyway, I played my best nine holes in several years.