They converged from all directions carrying life sustaining liquids. As they encountered the dystopian scene, the four Cowabungas were gobsmacked by the Katrina-like conditions. The main lodge was shuttered and quiet with no signs of life therein. Lawn chairs and tables were overturned. Plant debris littered the course. Wickets were crooked and bent. Little mounds of fresh dirt dotted the course indicating a harmonic convergence of moles. The horror! The horror!
Using a hacksaw and sledge hammer, the Cowabungas managed to open the clubhouse door to retrieve the balls, stakes and numbered tiles. After preparing the course for play, Leftie, Sticky Wicket, Surferino and Wick O'Shay suffered through a joyless but restorative prefunc.
Two rounds were played. Leftie won both rounds. The SOD was remarkable. With the first of two shots upon exiting the turn-around wickets, Wick clobbered his ball sending it up and over the flowerbed landing on the lower lawn and rolling to the lowest hedge, narrowly missing Leftie's ball. It was truly the most dramatic terrible shot seen in blog history.
Hours later in Wilson Park, the four Cowabungas, and those who love them, hoisted goblets of red wine and discussed today's creepiness and other items of local interest.
1 comment:
Fake news herein.
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