The Golf Tournament In San Saba Might Just Be The End Of Me...

As you all know, Mr. Snooty & I are in San Saba for the first of a series of three golf tournaments we are in every year. This particular tournament has been a little slice of pure Hell. For today, anyway. In this tournament each player is only allowed one mulligan per 18 holes. So, knowing that I had one bugger of a water hole to get over on 18, I held on to my mulligan for dear life until we had reached the approach to the green on 18. Off the tee, I had probably my very best tee shot of the day. It was gargantuan and I was thinking that I was so hot. Then, I had my second shot, which amazingly went where I intended for it to go. Damn! I was smoking hot.

Then, it all proceeded to go straight to Hell without passing GO or collecting $200.00. In this tournament each player is required to record EVERY STROKE. Yes, I said every stroke. I had survived most of the day without going too extremely far over triple bogey on about three holes and pretty much the norm on all others. I had quite a few bogeys and two pars, so I was feeling pretty confident. This is where it all melted down. Like in nuclear fashion. Like butter in the microwave. It was ugly and I won't be doing any more tournaments. I made the motion and Mr. Snooty seconded the motion.

Because this is a tournament, the organizers had everyone finishing their 18th hole @ a place where everyone who played before you, was naturally there, waiting for you to make your final descent onto the 18th green. They have also had a fair amount to drink (hmmm... make that a lot to drink) and they sit on the backside of the green ready to poke fun @ anyone who has the misfortune to not make it over the water to the green.

It resembles something like the PGA tournament held every year in Scottsdale, Arizona. If you've never seen the Scottsdale tournament then you won't understand. The gallery of fans is loud, drunk, boisterous and completely uncouth. The first time I saw it I could do nothing more than sit and gape at the TV with my jaw brushing the floor. I'd always thought of golfers as having class. This is seemingly not the case in many, many parts of the world. Even in San Saba, Texas for golf tournaments among friends

Today, we were the #18 of 20 couples playing, so by the time we hit the 18th hole, there were some very drunk puppies who had already crossed the finish line, so to speak. Waiting to cheer or jeer me onward. After two brilliant shots, I totally came apart at the seams. I had laid up at the edge of the water with a perfect approach to the green. In sticking with true *Tin Cup* form, I proceeded to plunk 23 consecutive iron shots straight into the water between the green and the mainland. It was a fairly short chip shot that I could make any other time in the world with no problem. For some reason that I cannot yet grasp, I started listening to Mr. Snooty. He kept telling me go up an iron and I listened, even though I knew I wasn't going to get over the water without a wood. I've always been better with my woods, than my irons. AAACK!

During the 15 minutes it took me to complete the total mutilation of my game, the gallery grew in their jeering and I let the anger monster in. Yup, I did it and I did not behave nicely. But, had I never been jeered on by the crowd, it's possible that none of this would even be an issue. F-bombs were flying out of my mouth and I even began making obscene gestures with my middle finger in reply to the gallery and it was totally disgraceful. Well, equally as much as the gallery's behavior, anyway. Still, I behaved deplorably and took 25 strokes on #18. I wanted to slink back to the motel room and lick my wounds, but I knew I had to face everyone, so we went on to the dinner that was included in the tournament. Me, with my tail tucked between my legs, similar to the animal my behavior most represented.

I was completely pissed off, but mostly at myself, for faltering under pressure and acting like a juvenile ass. Oh my, and I think I remember throwing a club at some point, which I had already vowed to never do again. It was a total nuclear meltdown. I have no other explanation aside from the 99 degree heat, the 85% humidity, no visible clouds anywhere in sight, and the fact that we'd all stayed up far too late the night before & undoubtedly had entirely too much to drink. Humidity & heat always make me either cranky or downright postal. Then there's the onset of heat-induced Tourette's Syndrome.

So, the next day, Saturday, we teed off again in mid afternoon with an overcast sky and I thought "Okay, I can do this." In this kind of tournament (which I don't even know what it's called) you play the best you can the first day, then the next day you only count the shaved strokes & holes of the ones you were able to improve upon. The ones you don't improve on, you just pickup. After having a talk with myself the night before, I decided that nothing would bother me today. I played my best game and in the end, had shaved a total of 32 points off my game from yesterday and I was happy. We didn't win diddly squat (as usual) but if there had been an award for the best recovery, I surely would have been the recipient.

Poor Mr. Snooty had as hard a time as I did, just not on as grand a scale as I. Frankly, I'd love to show some pictures, but while we were gone, our computer was attacked by a Trojan Horse Virus and it completely wiped out my ACDC picture program. Everything. Gone. Kaput. Welcome home losers! I will not know if there is anything retrievable until our computer guru calls me back & comes to the rescue. I am so upset about this I could puke, but I'll wait until the final decision. However, I just discovered that most of the pictures were all in my Picasa Web Album, which I've never used. Let's see if this works out. It will definitely be a coin toss, because so far I can't figure out how to get a picture on here from there.