This Rivalry Extends Beyond The Fantasy Gridiron

The morning started out perfectly.  I slept until seven thirty, which is late for me, and had a nice breakfast to get me started.  There was a little bit of traffic to contend with going down Interstate 680 at that time of the morning, so I ended up a few minutes late for the tee time. 

It was mid-week and there wasn't too much action there anyway.  I met my friend, we'll call him Fredo in the parking lot, and we went in to pay.  The golf pro seemed happy to see me, as it had been quite some time since I'd played there.  The timing ended up being perfect, as we got sent out onto the back nine to start. We got paired up with a couple of old timers name Inar (from Norway) and Tim (Like Father) and off we went to the 10th hole, our hole #1. 

My friend Juno started playing golf when we were about 15 years old.  He tried to get me to play with him, but I was too busy playing baseball, soccer, and every other sport that wasn't golf.  No thanks I said.  Ten years later when I'm not playing any sports, I decide golf looks pretty good.  Eight more years after that, Fredo wants to learn, and I'm the one that teaches him. 

So now everytime we go out to play, for him it's the Super Bowl, and for me just another round.  He's yet to best me on an eighteen hole course.  So earlier in the morning before I left, I left a note on my fantasy football message board about how badly I was going to beat Fredo.  Well, I actually said I was going to beat him by eight strokes per side.  SIXTEEN!  That's a pretty bold statement coming from anybody right?   

Things didn't start too well for the hero of our story.  The tee shot at 10 dribbled just past the ladies tees, and into the freshly watered creek.  Next shot went into the trees right.  Then a ricochet off of another tree.  I end up with an 8 on the first hole, Fredo cards a 6.  It goes on like this for the entire front 9.  Fredo is on his game hitting shots that he's never hit before.  Drilling drives down the middle of the fairway, and then calmly knocking them close to the green before he chips and puts them in.  I said I was going to beat him eight per side, and I go out on the front and post a 52.  Three strokes WORSE than Fredo.  What the hell is going on here?  How am I going to pick up nineteen strokes on the back nine?

It started out well enough, as I picked up single strokes on holes 10 & 11.  Hole number 12 is where is started to open up, as Fredo plunks it in the creek, while I hit it close and birdie the par 3.  Just like that a three stroke deficit turns into a 2 stroke lead.  Then on to fourteen, and this is where the wheels almost come flying off.  It's a rather short par 5, 442 yards straight up a hill that slants all the way up to the right.  I smash my drive but it starts to fade, and as I'm watching it all the way, I see it bounce on the opposite side of the creek, safe.  As I look for my ball along the edge, I see a Titlest 1 that I had found earlier and was playing.  It was perched on a small ledge along the wall of the creek bed, tangled in some weeds and brush.  My only play was to almost get down near the water, unbalanced, and take a whack at it with a choked down 8 iron. 

Swing and a miss.  Swing and a miss strike two, and after strike too I'm teetering on the edge of complete and utter humiliation.  I took a short step with my right foot, was swinging my arms like a boy trying to fly, and somehow managed to stay upright and not fall butt first into the creek.  I finally take it out and play it after a penalty stroke with my 3 iron, and hit a nice shot to within 100 yards in five.  As I'm walking along about 20 yards ahead I see another ball, this one also a Titlest 1, but this one has a logo.  I remembered that I was using a logo ball, so I had been hacking my way almost into the SwampThing territory on a ball that wasn't mine.  I ended up carding an eleven on the hole.  Luckily Fredo was in a giving mood on the back nine as he took nine shots to get it down, and we were back to even. 

After that incident, I started to heat up.  I parred the next par three, and also the following par 4.  Fredo just couldn't keep up, and in the end I managed to stay under 100 with a 98.  Fredo finished up with a tidy 105.  So I only bested him by seven strokes instead of the claimed sixteen, but a more valuable lesson was learned here by our young protege Fredo.  To be the man, you have to beat the man.  In the immortal words of one of the greatest champions of our time, Ric Flair. 

Back to that fantasy league post I made though.  As it stands right now, I'm sitting in 9th place out of ten, and Fredo is sitting in first place at 5-0.  I taught him how to play fantasy football too, so do you really think he's going to win it all while I'm still playing in the league?  Only if he didn't learn the lesson I taught him today, out on the course.