MY BUSINESS CARD reads “Personal Shrink to the Fragile Golfer.” It means what it says. I save lives.
A question I often hear from a client goes along these lines: “How can I get rid of the annoying jerk in my Saturday foursome that I have grown to despise? I’m afraid he’s going to force me to commit a crime that’ll land me in prison, and I don’t want to go to prison. It would ruin my short game.”
I have listened and learned that the annoying jerk may come in a variety of forms.
He is the man who says, “I still play Balata. I like to work the ball.”
His golf shirts fit too tight.
He may favor orange shirts with green slacks, or pink shirts with yellow slacks, even though he’s not color-blind.
He has been known to make twenty-two calls on his cell in nine holes.
He’ll study a chip shot from four angles, then flub it.
He nods at you like he knew what you were going to say after you said it.
He occasionally will have you spend fifteen minutes looking for his second shot that’s lost, then he will realize he hasn’t hit it yet.
He likes to talk about his one trip to Scotland and recite the poem he’s written about the Old Course.
He orders the popcorn soup.
He shows up with a new driver every two weeks, and says on the first tee, “Let the big dog eat.” The big dog usually dines out of bounds.
He gains a minimum of one foot each time he marks his ball on the greens.
He thinks Pine Valley is a California wine.
Here are suggestions that may help you get rid of him:
Lose his golf ball every chance you get. When he’s not looking, throw it over fences, into creeks, into bushes, on top of condos.
Gather a bunch of eight-by-ten gloss photos of Liberace. Autograph them to him and circulate them freely among the members, saying they were found in his locker. They can be tucked inside menus in the Fairway Dining Room.
Overwhelm him with swing tips. Tell him a new theory holds that the Vs should point to his left ear. Tell him the old idea of placing a newspaper under the right arm to keep the elbow close to the body when practicing the swing works better with the Oxford English Dictionary.
Post nefarious notes on prominent walls in the clubhouse announcing that he is nine months delinquent on his bill.
Circulate the rumor that his real family name is Keitel and he is the distant cousin of Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel. We all know what that name meant at the Nuremberg Trials.
Insist on driving when the two of you share a golf cart so you can take dangerous curves at high speed.
Walk abreast of him when crossing the bridge over the gorge at number 12 while keeping in mind that a gentle nudge can do the trick.
Tell him you’ve discovered a club maker in Cairo who makes drivers that guarantee incredible distance. The clubhead is made of the crushed skulls of Egyptian pharaohs. Provide an address. Google Earth can help here.
Casually mention that you saw his wife last week. She was strolling through the mall with a handsome, well-built young man in a muscle shirt and tight shorts.
Over the years these suggestions seem to have achieved the most success. It’s why I get the big bucks.