Having a ball on my vacation

The best thing about taking some vacation time is getting to play some golf. After all, there is nothing like hitting a ball with a crooked stick and chasing it into trees, water, sand and anything else I can find.

So last week as part of my vacation I went on a golf outing with a few friends. The day started like many other outings with friends -- by insulting one another in text messages before we even get to the course. The insults would continue the rest of the day. As a matter of fact, they still haven't stopped.

Before beginning our round we decided on teams. In one corner was Pate. The closest thing to Tiger Woods any of us has seen, he agreed to take on the three of us because we are all so bad. In the other corner was "The Visors." We got our name because we all wore sporting golf visors. It was the only part of our game that looked good.

"The Visors" were made up of myself along with Mark and Brian. They are both new to the game, meaning they had a built in excuse for not playing well. I rounded out our team as the most experienced member. I am a self-taught player that plays about five times a year. Translation: I stink.

On the tee box the excuses already start. In a matter of seconds there was a bad back, sore arm, stiff neck and a claim of not hitting a golf ball since birth. And those were just my excuses.

After I was finished with my excuses I made Mark and Brian go first, hoping one of them would hit a worse drive than myself. It's always been a rule of mine that if you are going to look bad, always play with somebody who is going to look worse. Fortunately they cooperated.

But as the round began something began to happen. You see I was hitting the ball and it was going where I wanted it to. I used to hit the ball and it would go to the right. But I fixed my swing and then the ball would always go left. I just wanted to see what the other side of the course looked like. But suddenly I was hitting the ball straight.

And it was a good thing too. My partners were having their struggles with just recognizing numbers and letters. First we told Mark to hit a seven iron. He pulls out a lob wedge instead. Apparently he was confused by the "7" and the "L" on the clubs.

Not to be outdone, a few holes later Brian mistook the "6" and the "9" and sent the ball 100 yards past the hole, crashing off a brick boundary at the clubhouse. Even Pate marking on their clubs with a marker didn't help because later in the day Mark made the same mistake and hit a ball I'm not sure has landed yet.

Still my day was going well. Brian had made a few putts and Mark was trying really hard, even wanting to try and hit the ball through a three-foot opening in the trees instead of taking a wide open safe shot. "That's my shot," he pleaded. You see what I had to work with but somehow after the first seven holes we were playing even with Pate.

Then came the eighth hole. I crushed a great drive. Pate not so much. My second shot landed on the green and Pate was still in the trees. Finally came time to putt. It was a test of Pate's skill against my luck and my luck won out as I drained a long putt for a birdie, giving "The Visors" a big lead.

All of a sudden mouthy Mark who had been complaining about being on my team suddenly changed his tune. Pate even decided to stop giving advice and get serious. He should have known he had nothing to worry about.

There is a thing called golf karma. Every time I make a birdie, I have to play at least two terrible holes to restore balance to the universe. Sure enough, with the help from my friends, that happened. See how these excuses work?

First, Mark had to change the hitting order. And everyone knows you never mess with good juju.

Then, as I was standing on the tee, ready to hit a drive my fellow golfers decided to continue the insults with a couple of pretty funny barbs that can't be repeated in print. The only problem was I was trying to hit the ball. I tried not to laugh but as the club swung toward the ball I busted up. The ball went all of five feet.

I now know why they tell you to keep your head down on the ball. Not to see it better but to save you the embarrassment of seeing your awful shots. Thankfully we had Mark's 50-yard drive to the ladies' tee box to fall back on, just a short 200 yards behind Pate's.

At that point my game went back to normal. A drive to the right and then a shot to the left. After all, no reason to leave any gas in the cart after the round. Mark and Brian still struggled with their numbers and Pate began making shot after shot.

Still, when the dust settled "The Visors" were victorious. Of course, Pate had spotted us eight strokes but a win is a win, no matter how many birds Brian hit and how many people sprained their ankles in Mark's divots.

Now, if I can just get the hang of keeping my head down so I don't see my awful shots. After all, I already have making excuses down pat. That and a cool visor.