“Golf combines two favorite American pastimes: taking long walks and hitting things with a stick.”

— P.J. O’Rourke



Since I’ve had my fill of religion and politics lately, I decided to take a break from reality and hit the links.

First off, I’d like to say I hate golf. It’s one of the most infuriating, time-consuming ways to elevate your blood pressure. I’d like to smack the inventor in the head with my putter.

And I still can’t stop playing.

Once a year or so, my brother Chris and I grab our clubs, pull on our snarkiest sweater vests and head on over to the Singing Hills country club. We then crash into things with our golf cart. And that’s before we even start drinking.

The day starts with a few cocktails at the bar before we hit the driving range. There we see how many times we can drill the poor sap driving the ball cart. There is nothing quite as satisfying as hearing the ringing report from a ball pinging off a moving object.

Now let me inform you about something that those close to me already know — I’m a horrible golfer. To say I’m miserable is a compliment. My brother on the other hand can just pick up a golf club any day of the week and hit the ball 300 yards.

He usually ends up around par, while my score is just north of my winter weight.

While golf is only one of a myriad of things that Chris and I’ve competed against one another in over the years, it’s also one of the sports that is prone to provoke violence within us.

On more than one occasion, we’ve been asked to leave a golf course because we tend to antagonize each other to the point of free-for-all wrestling matches on the putting greens. Which might be why we’re not allowed at Steele Canyon anymore.

Drinking usually plays a part in our activities as well. Which is why I wish they offered insurance before you rent a cart. But don’t ask if you can buy insurance before you get the cart because apparently they don’t find that as funny as we do.

The men in our family have a reputation for harboring a bit of a temper. Golf is not helping to diminish that reputation.

It’s not rare for us to return home with the clubs twisted, bent or missing altogether.

Though we have our tussles and squabble as only family can, we still use that time to catch up with each other and get reconnected.

As hectic as our lives can get sometimes, and with us living 40 minutes apart, it’s always nice to have a few hours to beat each other up and crash our carts into sand traps and water hazards.

Now if only we could find someone to insure our golf clubs ...