Sandhills Golf Vacation Stories

To secure my invitation for next year (and for my own safety) I will not mention the names of all involved, but I have to tell our story. The course, Tobacco Road, the scene, the 6th hole greenside bunker.

The big guy who gets his name honestly (6’7’’ and 260) was walking along the top edge of the green side bunker stalking his ball like a hawk at 200 feet. My position was across the green, keeping the pin between me and his ball. I had played the hole before and knew the shot wasn’t going to be easy. Then just as quickly as he was there, he was gone! Then I see the clubs fly! There go his legs and then silence. I quickly scan my playing partners and they’re equally amazed, but they have a front row seat to the event and are now cracking up with their lungs unable to suck enough air in to keep the laughter going.

It appears that our beloved big guy stepped onto a patch of dormant Bermuda that was growing over the lip. This allowed his foot to go straight into the bunker thus causing his weight to pull him sideways like the Titanic. He then rolled sideways down the lip like Rusty Wallace along the backstretch of Talladega. If anyone needs a description of an octopus falling, this was it.

To his credit, after brushing off his pants, shirt and ego, the big guy stepped up and executed a perfect shot that stopped 6 feet from the hole. He then steps up and makes the putt to save par. I would have loved to have seen Tiger to that!

Needless to say the other day’s events couldn’t compare to that. We all had a great time and whenever we’re together the story is a hot topic for discussion and laughter. Funny how the lip gets bigger and the sounds get louder.

The boys and I can’t wait to get back to the Sandhills!

My golf group is down for the semi-annual golf trip to the Sandhills and it is day #3. The bets are getting bigger and bigger, the "BS" is getting more abrasive and we are playing the Legacy. You may be familiar with this track. They have a lake that usually runs down the right side of #10 and curls around to guard the front of #18. Well, the lake was gone and instead replaced by a big mud hole. Evidently they had some problems with the dam and had to drain the lake. My partner and I are a couple down and we press on the last hole to try and lose even more money. The best player in our foursome and one of our opponents, Pete, pops his tee ball. His partner, Steve "Mr. Tinker Bell", had been doing all the talking and yet, was in his pocket pretty much all day. He is no help on #18, so after some pretty good drives by my partner and I, we're feeling pretty good about winning and breaking even...........Now, an important sidebar… Our opponent, and the best player in the group is a Type A personality, grade A neat freak. He wears $120 silk golf shirts, $100 slacks and the top of the line Foot Joys. We'll he was sporting these brand spanking new, high tech golf shoes and his game can usually back up the look. He was grinding on what to do with his short drive on #18 when he pulls out a fairway wood to #18 green over this empty lake. He knows that one of us will make par and halve the match unless he can save his partners rear end again. He takes a mighty cut at his approach and catches it a bit heavy and it lands in the dry looking lake bed in front of the green. My partner and I both hit the green (a miracle!) and put the pressure on "the neat freak" Pete. He can see his ball, along with a dozen or so others, in the bottom of the lake bed 30 feet from the edge of the green. For me it's a "no brainer" to go in the lake and try and save par, but for Pete and his $500 golf outfit, it's a struggle to commit to taking one for the team.

After a bunch of ribbing from Tinker Bell, Pete goes into the abyss and starts sinking. Thing is, he can't lift his feet, they are stuck. The more he moves the deeper he goes. Apparently, the top of the lake bed was
crusted over, underneath was a quagmire. Finally, he sits down and pulls each leg out of the mud one at a time to a slurpy suction noise. His legs and feet are out, but his $300 new Footjoys are glued 3 feet under the lakebed. After we all finish wetting our britches and laughing our tails off, we drive back to the hotel and settle in for a few cold ones and more laughing. Needless to say we broke even. Maybe 200 years from now someone will be excavating the area and uncover those Footjoys and they will become an ancient artifact.