Monday, July 20, 2009

The Golf Cart

A golf post on Mass Hysteria? Well clearly this must be about the British Open. I mean, did you SEE Tom Watson yesterday? I mean, you know... am I right? Choke job! I especially couldn't believe the part with the thing where he hit the stuff and the shot where he missed the thing, I mean COME ON!


...OK so I didn't watch the British Open. Needless to say, I spent much of yesterday nursing a crippling hangover, mainly because I spent most of Saturday evening treating Sangria like Joey Chestnut treats hot dogs. More, please. Instead, this is an early version of Tuesday Storytime, mainly because I have decided that this story is just too good to make you, the loyal reader, wait an extra day. First, some background. A good friend of mine got married on Friday in the great state of Connecticut, and I, along with many other friends, travelled West on the Massachusetts Turnpike to celebrate the occasion. That's pretty much all you need to know, and I will remind you that this story is 100% true, and only the names have been changed, in order to protect the humiliated. Enjoy:

I arrived in the Nutmeg State Thursday evening after work to begin all sorts of wedding-related debauchery. One of the plans was for some of the gentlemen to play a round of golf on Friday morning. I arrived at the course to find 6 other hacks such as myself ready to embarrass themselves and their loved ones. The seven of us split off into two groups: The first group consisted of the groom, the bride's father, commenter Balla Miguel, and another groomsman named Jeff. The second group was myself, the best man, and dubbschism (of Ejected Fan fame). Needless to say, myself, dubbschism, and the best man are all halfway-decent golfers. The aforementioned foursome that played ahead of us...not so much. We were on their tails most of the day. We arrive at a par 3 with an elevated tee and watch the foursome tee off, aiming their shots at a green far below where we were standing. After the four teed off, the father of the bride suggested that we all step up and hit our tee shots as well, in a sort of closest-to-the-pin contest. We obliged. With everyone's ball now on or around the green, we hop in our golf carts and begin the trek down the hill to our balls. Miguel and Jeff in the first cart, the groom and the father of the bride in the second, the best man in the 3rd, and myself and dubbschism in the 4th. As we round the corner to begin our descent, we start seeing signs: CAUTION, STEEP HILL, PROCEED SLOWLY, BRAKE WISELY, etc.

dubbschism turns to me and says "This is an accident waiting to happen. I'm glad we're in the back." As we round the corner, we notice the road is wet and slick with mud. The area over the path was darkened by the shadows from large trees lining both sides of the road, but as we peered down the abyss, it appeared that there was an overturned golf cart at the front of our caravan. It also appeared that there was a human being underneath the cart, which was now lying on it's side. I quickly set the brake in our vehicle and climbed out to check out the scene and survey the damage. The best man does the same. We cautiously walk down to see that there is indeed an overturned cart, with Miguel underneath it. The groom, in an outright panic, leaps from his cart without first setting the parking brake, causing it to continue rolling down the hill. Once his cart is recovered and neutralized, we all hover over the mangled body of Miguel. These are not your grandpa's little go-go scooter-type golf carts. These were the real deal. Gas powered. We assess the situation. Cart on it's side. Miguel underneath it. Seats from the cart detached and 5-10 feet away from the crash site, presumably sent airborne during the accident. Windshield of the cart twisted and misalligned. Strong stench of gasoline. Battery of the car dangling out of the side. A human being wincing in pain. We act quickly, using four men to upright the cart and free the man beneath. As we reconstruct the vehicle like it's a Lego Starship Enterprise, Miguel limps away in obvious pain. He's shaken. Blood pours from his right elbow. He favors his left leg. He shakes dirt and mud from his Red Sox cap. We quickly ask Jeff how this could have happened. He claims the cart was veering off the road, so he needed to brake and steady it, causing it to careen into a ditch, dumping Miguel's body from the cart, and then having it spill onto him, lying stunned and helpless. I survey the hill. There was only ONE way to get down it. Just go. Don't brake, don't turn, just bang down it like you're a Mexican running from the police. Also, if the cart was veering off the road as Jeff claimed, that means he is a terrible driver. Why would it veer off the road? Are you an amateur at the wheel? But I digress. We right the cart, and have it looking at least somewhat like it did when we pulled it away from the clubhouse some two hours ago. Our attention is now on Miguel, who is clearly shaken up. He hits his next shot onto the green - likely the best shot he hit all day. He then retires to the cart, and refuses to finish the hole. He is then transported to a local walk-in clinic, where his elbow is bandanged up, and his leg is x-rayed, revealing a deep bone bruise. He made his triumphant return to the festivities that evening, where he was able to limp down the aisle, as several folks, including myself, giggled loudly in a house of God.


ballamiguel said...

For the sake of clarity:

"and refuses to finish the hole..."

Was anyone disappointed that I didn't scale the hill to finish the hole with my putter on one leg?

"...where he was able to limp down the aisle..."

If you ask anyone who witnessed me escorting my assigned bridesmaid down the aisle, I was as smooth as GHABBY's noggin. Band Camp taught me (and HZMLS) a very sound roll-step.

GHABB,Y~! said...

A real man would've finished the hole.

Then again, a real man wouldn'tve grievously injured himself on a FUCKING GOLF CART, but that's beside the point.

ballamiguel said...

Real men don't play golf, either. I was only playing at the request of the groom.

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