One of the things that my father taught me when I was a wee lad was: if you have an opportunity to play golf in the rain in February, that’s a an opportunity of which you need to take advantage. Even if you have the flu. (My father also taught me that motor oil ain’t for drinkin’, no matter how good it may smell. He is a prodigious fount of useful tidbits.)

To this end, Brian and I signed up for the 23rd Annual Groundhog Golf Tournament. This festive extravaganza is thrown on the first Saturday of February each year by the New Castle County Sports and Recreation Department, headed by a nice fellow who I believe is named Bob. (Reminder: I do almost no research. If you want to read something that’s factual and well-written, you should click here to read Brian’s professional account.) Every year they get about 40 guys that play at one of two courses: the Delcastle Golf Club, and the Ed “Porky” Oliver Golf Club, which features nudity and drunk truckers.

Just kidding. The drunk truckers prefer to play Delcastle.

Now, normally, a person who is just getting over the flu should always make sure to stay warm and dry, so that they don’t develop Bronchitis or something. I, of course, don’t do anything normally, so I ventured out to the course wearing long johns under a tshirt and a thin parka and jeans. No hat. No gloves. No scarf. My IQ has been rated as high as 163. None of these facts are incongruous, I think. My logic was, if it didn’t rain, the temperatures were going to be in the mid-50s, so I should be fine. If it DID rain, a hat and scarf and gloves would just become saturated with cold water and have to be discarded. This makes sense, I tell you.

Brian was better prepared, with a thick hooded coat and gloves, plus a hat. The rest of our foursome (John Emory and Stan Lyons, who are quoted extensively in Brian’s column) was dressed about as I was, except that they had brought large golf umbrellas, and all I had was a little flimsy black umbrella that I got at Duane Reed in New York for $9.99.

I played about as well as I had expected I would, since I hadn’t been able to get to the driving range that week. Damnable flu! My putting was pretty bad early on, but improved as time went on. I did a pretty decent job of getting a couple long putts close, and a pretty abominable job of missing several 2-footers. Most of my shots did the usual, and inexplicable, “I’m not gonna slice, I’m just gonna come off the club 20 degrees to the right of where you aimed, for no discernible reason.” This is something that I must fix, as it’s only appeared in the last few years and therefore is probably something repairable.

A few highlights: I bombed a 5-iron from the fairway, straight and true, landed it on the green. Don’t remember which hole, of course. And, of course, on a “closest-to-the-pin” competition on the unused 8th hole (the tournament only involved 12 holes), I hit my best shot of the day, an 8-iron right on-line with the pin. Didn’t win the prize, but still a good shot.

In the end, on 12 holes, we shot a 61. This is about what Brian would have shot by himself, I think, so my contribution to the “best ball” format is minimal. We also four-putted a hole and nearly wet ourselves with grief.

I hate golf. Better get out to the range next time it’s warm.

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