Golf: A Game for Cheaters

Golf – A Game of Cheaters and Liars

http://youtu.be/5nnjgbV9sks

I was recently accused of cheating while playing golf with my nephew and brother. The source of this lie was my friend, Charlie T. who posted his accusation in the social community, Dubuque Iowa Roots on Face Book. Why, he had the audacity to infer that I used a pencil with a very large eraser on the end to change my score. My brother, Rick and nephew, Brian also accused me of cheating.
I am a liar. Yep, I’m a professional storyteller and the Cowboy Poet Laureate of Tennessee. I’m billed as “The Biggest Liar in East Tennessee.” That’s part of my act – being a liar. The difference between a storyteller and a liar is that a storyteller gets paid. Being a great liar helps with any cheating during golf. If I cheated.
Before I set all wrongs right, I’m obliged to report on other cheaters in our social community. Clair and Randy admitted they cheat when playing with their brother, Herk. Apparently Clair’s wife allows him to cheat. And she still beats him. Cindy Lou didn’t cheat when we played together. I cheated and she still won. I’m so bad she didn’t need to cheat. Jeanie’s husband cheats. She told us. Sandra took lessons a long time ago. The instructor recommended she not take up the game. I want to play a round with her. I’ll just bet I wouldn’t have to cheat.
Now that all other cheaters have been exposed, I have to report exactly why I lost against my brother and nephew. It wasn’t just one game. It was three games.
In the mountains of western North Carolina there are many bears. Also in the mountains of western North Carolina there are many golf courses. If I played the game well, I’d be in the fairways and not off in the woods.
There I was trying to hit out of the woods when I sensed something wasn’t right. I turned around and there was a male bear ten feet away watching me. I have to say, I was frightened. I did what we all should do with instances like that. I tried to make myself look bigger, screamed and yelled and then waved anything I could find at the bear. The goal was to frighten ole Smoky.
I had no difficulty screaming and yelling. Trust me on that one. I stood on a stump and waved my pants that I had removed. I wasn’t about to  use my new University of Iowa Hawkeye shirt. My pants seemed logical during that time of stress. Other golfers reported later that they wondered what was happening seeing a pair of green and red checkered pants being swung around in the woods.
My antics worked. Ole Smoky charged right past me out of the woods and towards my golf cart. The problem was he snagged my pants and ripped ‘em right out of my hand.  That bear drove off with my cart lickety-split. And he was dragging my pants with him.  He crashed the cart trying to make a curve on a downhill turn. Last we saw he was lumbering up the hill over yonder.
People ran from everywhere. I guess it was my screaming. Thankfully no clubs were damaged. There I was wearing my red boxers designed with little sets of golf clubs. Hey folks, I need all the karma on the course I can get. I was busy putting my pants back on and other golfers were picking up tees, balls and a Miller Lite can of beer.
One fella found a pencil with a long eraser. I told him it wasn’t mine. They helped me right the cart and I was back to normal. My brother then said I had to take a penalty stoke. He showed no mercy. Do you see now why I’m inclined to cheat? I lost that round, but think I might have won if that bear hadn’t thrown off my concentration.
I was disqualified during the second round. I was caught wearing my special pants. The pocket has a hole in it. When I can’t find a lost ball, I drop a new ball into my pocket and down the leg it goes dropping where I choose. I get many good positions in fairways using that trick. The third round we played was even worse for me.
It was the last hole and we were tied. A simple chip to the green and one putt and I’d finally win a game. The sweat bee irritated me but didn’t sting - well, at first anyway. Then it dawned on me. Holy Crap! It was a yellow jacket and he wasn’t alone. I had stepped on a nest in the ground and stirred up the entire bunch.
I had no choice but to run. I was screaming like a girl, waving my hands and sprinting to the pond next to the green. I was getting stung all over. One managed to crawl up my pant leg, thru my secret hole in the pocket and stung me on the upper thigh. My brother and nephew stood on the green and watched. They said later they figured I was faking – that was until I jumped into the pond.
That’s right, folks. It’s no wonder I have to cheat. Things like that always seem to happen to me. If it’s not bears and bees it’s snapping turtles and copperhead snakes.
While in that pond waiting for the yellow jackets to calm down, I felt the most awful deep and powerful pain in my butt. Then I felt a sharp sting in my right wrist. Once again I screamed and ran. My brother and nephew leaned against their putters up on the green and watched. They didn’t move. I saw them both from the corner of my eye shaking their heads.
I was jumping, I was twisting and I was rolling on the ground. Hooked to my butt was a snapping turtle. When I rolled for the third time he let loose. But something was whipping off my arm. It was a copperhead. I ripped him loose and threw him towards the pond. Then I had to pull his fangs out of my arm with my teeth. I chipped my incisor, but finally rid myself of the fangs.
There I was with a bloody butt and a swollen and throbbing wrist. It was all I could do to remove the moss and scum from my new shirt and cap. My cap had a saying on it. It read, ”When I die, bury me next to the old bag.” It had a picture of a golf bag. I thought it was funny. My wife didn’t agree.
I yelled to my brother and asked for some type of relief- based on my condition. Again there was more wagging of heads to indicate a “no.” I tried to hit. I topped the ball and lost the game.
Do you see now why I have to cheat?