The story you are about to read is largely fictitious. I say “largely” because it is based on an actual phone call that I received one day from a man that I had never met. The story that follows is based on that same conversation.
I later found out that the scenario that this man described was a product of his imagination, the purpose of which, was to convey in no uncertain terms, his level of desperation. What I would soon learn was that for this man golf was more than just a game. He was euphoric when he played well, but when his game went south it was as if his life was coming to an end. And at that point for him, THE GAME TURNED DEADLY.
Before reading on you should know, that as the saying goes, the man who you will soon meet is not “the sharpest knife in the drawer.” This leads to some humorous moments as he pours his heart out to the operator. That is where our story begins.
I was working as a dispatcher part-time for the local police department. There were three of us, including my supervisor. The phone rang and it was my turn to take the call. “911” I said. “What is your emergency?”
“I’m standing on the edge of a bridge,” the panicked voice began. I wasn’t sure but it sounded like a man on the other end.
“Slow down sir. Which bridge,” I asked in calm voice, remembering my training.
“I’m not going to giveaway my location. You’ll send someone.”
“Sir, we are just trained to ask that question in case there is an emergency,” I countered.
“Would jumping off a bridge qualify as an emergency,” he said sarcastically.
“Yes sir, that certainly would qualify as an emergency.”
“I’ve stood in this exact spot before. This time I’m going to do it,” he said with what sounded like a certain degree of conviction.
“Sir, you are going to do what this time,” I asked?
“I’m going to throw them in,” he replied.
“Are there others with you that are in danger,” I questioned.
“You bet they’re in danger—big time.”
“What do you mean by THEM,“ I asked with some concern?
“I don’t want to talk about them now,” he said. And then adding, “In any case, they’re dead to me.”
I switch my microphone to the off position. My supervisor had, up until that point, been listening only to my side of the conversation.
“Sharon, I’m not sure, but we might have a genuine problem here,” I said. “A distraught man. A possible suicide with hostages. Maybe you should alert the police so they’re ready to move on this quickly,” I added.
She nodded in agreement. I switched my mic back on.
“Sir, I need your help. Who is there with you,” I stated authoritatively. I must have thrown him off balance, because this time he answered.
“You want to know who THEY are,” he said, his voice becoming more animated. “THEY are my golf clubs. And here is is something else. Based on the number of bizarre shots that I hit with them, I’d swear sometimes that they are the spawn of the devil.”
That was the first time in my career that I’d heard that excuse.
“Let me get this right. You’re standing on the edge of a bridge with the river below. You have your golf clubs with you and you are thinking about throwing them over the railing. Do I have that right,” I asked?
“I didn’t tell you there is a river below. How did you know that,” he asked suspiciously?
“Why else would there be a bridge,” I answered?
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I never thought of it that way,” his voice drifting off at the end.
“You said you were getting ready to throw your clubs over the edge of the bridge,” I said.
“Yes, I’m very close,” he said.
There was a long pause as if he were thinking, and then he added, “And I might just join them. “
I switched off my mic again. Sharon was now sitting next to me listening to both sides of the conversation. “What do you think. Do we have a jumper?”
“That’s hard to say exactly,” she said. “And we don’t have a location yet, so it is a moot point,”
“Maybe the he police could determine his location using cell towers,” I suggested.
“That’s a good idea,“ she said. “I’ll get them on the line while you’re talking to him.”
I nodded in agreement. I switched my mic back on just in time to hear him say, “I don’t think you are taking me seriously. I have my golf bag right here. I’m hold it in my arms like a damn’ baby. Me or them?”
I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was becoming more and more agitated. “Don’t jump,” I said emphatically. He was quiet for a moment. I thought now was a good time to ask. “What ‘s your name?”
“Dan” he replied.
“What’s your last name Dan?” I asked.
“I’d rather not say right now,” he replied
“That’s fine, Dan. We’ll do it your way.”
“What should I do next,” he said? “My swing has gone to hell.”
“I can help you. I’m a golf professional,” I said.
“Come on. You’re a switchboard operator,” he said with a measure of doubt in his voice.
“I’m only doing this part-time. I’ve been teaching the game for more than 40 years,” I explained.
“How lucky does that make me,” he said with just the slightest hint of optimism in his voice.
“Dan, I want you to stay in contact with me. Do not hang up. Can you do that for me,” I asked? I sensed that something was missing in his life: maybe a meaningful connection, another person who cared both about him — and, of course, his golf clubs.
“Yes, I can do that,” he replied contritely. “What should I do next,” he asked.
“Dan, I want to ask you a question. Do you believe I can help you,” I asked him point-blank.
“Yes, I think you can help me. But this is serious. Like I told you earlier—my golf game has gone to hell.”
“Yes, so you said. Would you like to hear what I think after listening to you, “ I asked?
“Sure,” he replied.”
“I think you’ve been traumatized, and because of what you’ve experienced, you‘re are not thinking clearly. There is no need for you to jump off the bridge. Now your clubs —that’s a different matter. Of course, that means that unless you quit the game entirely, you’ll have to buy another set to replace them.”
I continued, “Have they been giving you a lot of trouble lately,” I asked?
“They have dragged me through hell and back,” he answered. “Especially the driver. I’ve never driven the ball so poorly.”
“What should I do next, he asked?
“Dan, are you familiar with the phrase from the bible that says, ‘If thy eye offend thee then pluck it out,'” I asked.
“There is nothing wrong with my eyes. I have 20-20 vision,” he answered with obvious pride.
“Dan, you missed the point completely. I’m referring to your driver. I think you would agree that your driver offends you. And so, the bible is suggesting that you should ‘pluck it out,’ which in this case means dispose of it,” I explained this point as if I were his bible-school teacher.
“That wouldn’t bother me one bit,” he replied. “That club has always given me the creeps. Maybe it is possessed.”
“Could be,” I said. “Have you ever seen the head spin around in a circle,” I asked jokingly?
“Yes,” he said excitedly. “There was that one time when it came loose..”
“No, Dan. That wasn’t what I was talking about,” I replied.
“OK. What’s next,” Dan asked?
“You need to show your clubs who’s in charge. The inmates are running the asylum. I want you to take the driver out of your bag.”
“I’ve got it. What’s next?”
“How has the headcover been treating you?”
“Fine, I don’t have a beef with the headcover.”
“OK. Take it off and set it aside,” I said. “Now take the club in your right hand and wrap your fingers tightly around the handle.
“How many knuckles should I see when I grip it?”
“Dan, forget about your knuckles.”
“Where should the “V” of my right hand be pointed?”
“You can forget about that,” I replied.
“OK. Now what?”
“Wait, are you right-handed?”
“I want you to lift the driver above your head and then smash it down on the pavement as hard as you can. I continued, “And if you see a black puff of smoke as it hits the ground, then it’s absolute proof that the club was possessed.”
“No, I’m kidding you. Go ahead now,” I said with some authority again.
“Just do it,” I said. “You’ll feel better,” I added.
“OK. Here goes. I’m going to put the phone down. Hold on.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said. The next second I heard a crashing sound. In a moment, he was back.
“I did it,” he said. “But there wasn’t a puff of black smoke,” he added.
“Dan, we talked about that. “How do you feel?”
“Great,” he said. “Now what.”
“Take the pieces and throw them over the top of the bridge. A sort of burial at sea without all of the pomp and circumstance.”
I could hear him fumbling around in the background. “OK. I did it. What’s next.”
“Well, the rest of the clubs just saw what you did to the driver. They are probably pretty scared thinking they’re next. I’d suggest that you put them in the trunk of your car,” I said.
The phone went quiet for a moment and then he was back. “OK. I put my clubs in the trunk. Now what?”
“Did you have any problems?”
“The 4-iron game me a little trouble. His was sticking up out of the bag. I think he was looking for a way to escape. I slapped him upside the head and he slipped back down into the bag.” he said.
“What did the other clubs do,” I asked.
“They just stood there looking. I think the 4-iron was the ring-leader,” he added.
“You may be right about that, but that’s water under the bridge, I replied.”
“Which brings up the subject of the bridge. Which one are you standing on,” I asked.
“The Mendota Bridge,” he said quietly.
“Dan, here’s what I’d like you to do next. I’d like you to climb into your car, put the key in the ignition and start driving. You are only 15 minutes away.”
“Away from where,” he questioned.
“You are 15 minutes away from my home course, which is located on 66th Street and Cedar Avenue next to the airport—Rich Acres.
“I know where it’s located. I played there once a few year ago,” he volunteered as his mood seemed to brighten.
“I done here in five minutes. I’ll meet you there and give you a free lesson. How’s that for a deal,” I asked?
There was quiet on the other end. “Are you still there,” I questioned.
“Yes, I’m here,” he said.
“What’s the problem,” I asked?
“Do you have a driver that I can borrow?”
Don’t be THAT guy at your corporate outing
Today is the day. Your out-of-office email is up, and you’re fully prepared for an afternoon at the course. As a driving range pro, you think this day will be a gentle breeze. However, you are not prepared. You may not even realize it, but you are about to be that guy.
That guy… who is that guy? Well, I’m glad you asked.
He’s that guy at the range hours early instead of socializing at the breakfast. He’s that guy arranging the scramble lineup when he finally makes it to that breakfast. He’s the guy who finds himself reading a golf blog about a corporate scramble.
Now, let’s start this early in the morning. You’re in your closet carefully crafting your outfit for the day. Wait, wait, wait… let’s not start there. Therein lies the problem, guy. You aren’t composing an outfit, not today! An outfit is for Day 2 of your member-guest. An outfit is for that golf trip with your buddies. An outfit is for Bill Murray at the Pebble Beach Pro-Am (who, with those bell bottoms, is becoming dangerously close to that guy).
A corporate outing is for the muted colors sitting in the back of your closet. There’s no need to get flashy with your attire on this day. If your game is as good as your rangefinder magnet says you are, your game will be enough of the conversation; there’s no need to make your belt buckle one of them. White shorts are fine, but please, don’t be the guy wrapped in pants in 80-degree heat. I get it, you’re “more comfortable in pants” and “this new fabric is actually cooler than shorts.” Come on now, let’s save the pants for guys who aren’t playing for pro shop credit.
Obviously club-tossing, swear-wording and teammate-bashing are huge no-nos, but you already know that. Be encouraging on the course and give your teammates credit when they hit one down the middle, even if you drive it past them. It was still their shot that freed you up.
Most importantly, gauge the competitiveness of the team. Some people are there to win; some people are there for gin. If it’s clear that your team isn’t firing 14-under, kick back, relax and help your teammates improve. You’ll have your own chance. You can still get excited for the long drive, guy.
Speaking of the long drive, why is the prize for winning said competition so often a new driver? “You proved today how well you smash that driver, so here is a new one!” Sir, he likes his just fine. I think it’s safe to venture he’d rather stop the three-putt pars. Which also goes for the longest-putt prize. A brand new Odyssey White Hot! Just stop it. Pro shop credit… problem solved.
Speaking of problems, there’s a good chance someone in your group will have a massive one with their swing. As a guy, you’ll probably want to tell them they are “casting” and to try this “towel-under-the-arm drill.” Yes, it is completely fine to provide a tip, but only when warranted (or preferably, called upon). You can go from “guy who helped my short game” to “guy who destroyed my swing” with just a few too many hints.
One more thing. Don’t let any guy pull this move.
Let me paint a story. Your team approaches the green, you have two decent looks at birdie. Good for you! However, your team can’t decide. One is 15-feet straight up the hill. The other is an eight-foot slider. The team agrees the shorter putt is still the play.
“I’ll smack this 15-footer, just for fun,” your cheating teammate says. Followed shortly by, “unless it goes in, ha.”
Other than actually cheating, this is the most common and lame shenanigan I’ve seen in a corporate scramble. I’ve never forgotten the people that did it with me, and they won’t forget you.
Man, that got dark in a hurry.
Back to the fun stuff. You’ve mastered the clothing and seamlessly blended casual and competitive like Tom Brady in Uggs. All that is left now is to select your winning item in the pro shop. And this is where I leave my final tip. Go with something practical: gloves, golf balls. The last thing your wardrobe needs is another lime green shirt that you’ll want to wear in next month’s scramble.
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Host Michael Williams reports on his visit to Media Day at Shinnecock Hills, the site the 2018 U.S. Open, where he played the course. How are the current conditions? He weighs in on the Unlimited Mulligan Challenge made by Dave Portnoy of Barstool Sports that day, as well. Also, famed Architect David Kidd talks about how he created Bandon Dunes at the age of 25, and Steve Skinner of KemperLesnik gives his views on the health of the golf business.
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