GREETINGS FELLOW GOLFAHOLICS

Dear Fellow Golfaholics,
This blog is dedicated to addicted golfers who would and have done just about anything to get out and hit a jumbo bucket or play a round of golf no matter the cost. Personally or professionally. At my home course there are more than a few golfers whose marriages have broken up and others who have lost jobs and squandered careers due to their addiction to golf and for the most part they are considered heros. This blog is dedicated to them and heros just like them around the world.

STORY TELLING

I have two goals that I would like to work on here at Swingnuts. The first is to relate true golf addiction stories. These are stories that have happened to me or those I know personally and second, to write a series of fictional stories about 'the addiction'
based on a play that I wrote about this sensitive subject. The play is titled, SWEETSPOT, CONFESSIONS OF A GOLFAHOLIC. You can learn more about this project by going to http://www.sweetspotthecomedy.com/ . Once there you will find out more about me and also see some of the material I have written about golf addiction and also get a chance to view some clips from a production of the play taped live some time ago.
My goal here is to take the characters that I created for the play and flesh out their lives in a richer form and hopefully create an entire village of people whose lives have been affected for better or worse by the dark underbelly of the game of golf, namely, golf addiction.

For those of you who are under the delusion that no such addiction exits, let me offer this true story as a prime example.

One Summer several years ago I was working at the local golf course in the pro shop. It was a hot Saturday afternoon and I was in the shop with my good friend the Head Pro. Things had quieted down for the day as the 'heavy users' were already out on the course. All we had to deal with (and I believe that you should start seeing your golf professionals and golf retail people as 'dealers' ) were the late comers and those high handicappers who are just beginning to feed their addiction as well as the odd individual who can actually golf socially.
My boss and I began to chatter about this and that and occasionally look out the window at the first tee and grimace at the hideous swings that unfolded before us. At some point in this quiet period a young boy came into the shop and began to look around. We get a lot of this. People of all ages are attacted to golf paraphanalia. Particularly all that glistening steel laid out in display fashion around the shop. That's what this young lad was doing. Wandering aimlessly around the shop occasionally fondling a club head or staring at the huge selection of balls.
Neither my boss or I paid much attention to the boy and after a while we forgot that he was there. We told dirty jokes under our breath and oogled some of the pretty women that were coming off the course and kept one eye on the driving range out behind the shop.
In the middle of a particularly foul and nasty and very funny joke we both checked the shop to make sure no one was in ear shot. That was when we noticed that the young boy was still present. We both instantly became aware that he had been in the shop for quite a while now. At least for the better part of an hour, maybe more. It was evident that the boy had been at the town pool just a short walk down the road because he was wrapped in a damp towel and had on a pair of swim trunks and flip flops as well. His lips were blue and he was shivering in the air conditioned room.
My boss looked at me with a kind of annoyed shrug and then turned his attention to the boy.
"May I help you?" he asked. The boy turned to us and immediately his eyes began to water up and he said in a quivering voice, "May I borrow your phone?" My boss, always a stickler for manners said, "You may if you say the magic word?" The boy got the hint right away. "Please?" he asked. My boss grabbed the mobile shop phone behind him and handed it to him over the counter. "It's a local call, right?" I added, letting my boss know I was looking out for the shop at all times. The boy nodded and began to dial. We watched as the call went through. When someone finally picked up on the other end the boy lost his composure completely and tears flowed down his cheeks. "Mom?" he said, his voice breaking completely, "What hole are you on!!!"
My boss and I had to choke down our laughter.
The boy continued. "You said you were only going to play 9 holes! How can you be on the 17th hole?" We could hear the mothers voice over the phone making some pathetic excuse but the boys last line was the best. " I don't care how good you're hitting the ball, you have to come pick me up or I'll tell Dad!"

Whenever my boss or I needed a good chuckle for the rest of the season we would just mutter that last line under our breaths and we would start to howl.

Hope you liked it. Next time I will begin with the adventures of Ted and Carol as they begin to face Ted's wonderful introduction to the game of golf and his inevitable descent into the belly of the beast.

Please feel free to pass on to this blog any wonderful golf addiction stories you may have and if I find them depraved enough I'll be sure to share them with all the readers.

Thanks again,
John O'Hern (Johnny Swing Nuts)