Crime on the courseDo you know one of these offenders ...
By ROBERT TYCHKOWSKI, EDMONTON SUN
Bad golf partners. We've all had one.
A lot of us, at one time or another, have been one. Maybe still are.
They come in a variety of shapes, sizes and personalities, but one thing they all have in common is they're the last one anybody calls to round out a foursome - and they can never figure out why.
As a public service, I've listed the most annoying partners in golf so they might understand why they can never find a game. I've also included advice on what to do if you're paired up with one.
See if there's anyone you recognize... hopefully, it's not you.
Refuses to admit his ball is lost. St. Bernards with flasks of rum around their necks give up on lost children in the Alps before The Seeker gives up on on a $1.50 Pinnacle. There could be two groups waiting on the tee box behind him and he's scouring through the trees like he lost his insulin kit.
BEST ADVICE: Tell him you saw a squirrel run away with it and let him take a drop without a penalty.
THE LESSON GIVER:
He's the one with the free advice after every shot you take. He's usually not much better than you are, but for some strange and annoying reason he turns into Bobby Jones whenever somebody else swings a club. He could be playing in a pro-am and point out three swing flaws every time Vijay Singh missed a green. Talks like he should be on tour, but struggles to keep it under 95.
BEST ADVICE: Start giving HIM free advice after every one of HIS bad shots.
THE CLUB THROWER:
Like The Lesson Giver, The Club Thrower isn't a low handicapper but is under the delusion he is. So when a shot goes wrong, the two wires in his Temper Control Centre touch and his clubs look like Blackhawk helicopters storming Afghanistan. Like it's Callaway's fault he tries to scoop all his wedge shots. It's hysterical when something breaks and there he is, standing there with a duffed tee shot, a red face and a $500 two-piece driver, but not so funny when one of the pieces just misses your skull.
BEST ADVICE: Sneak a Valium into his beer when he's not looking.
Closely related to The Seeker. Somebody bought this guy a ball retriever for Christmas and everybody who's ever played golf with him, or behind him, has been paying for it ever since. His golf bag is packed with soggy, brownish-looking marshmallows, so he's happy.
BEST ADVICE: Tell him he almost has that Titleist ... just a little farther ... you're almost there ... and hope, just once, that he falls in.
BAD MATH GUY:
He could put his tee shot out of bounds, land his third in the drink, top his fourth, stick-handle to the green and three putt - then tell you he took bogey. Or, if you took bogey, then he was a double. He always tells his score last, adding one to the highest number in the foursome. When you call him on it, he pauses, pretends to do some imaginary adding and says: "Oh, that's right. I was three off the tee .... did I say six? I meant 11.''
BEST ADVICE: Never play him for money.
FOUL MOUTH GUY:
Every missed fairway, lip out, slice, hook or lost ball is followed by a string of profanity that would make 50 Cent blush. It's "@#$%# putter'' and %$#@$ driver'' all afternoon.
BEST ADVICE: Ignore it. It's outside and we're all adults here. But bring it to his attention if he gets to the clubhouse and asks the waitress for a !$%#/!& hot dog.
TAKES FOREVER GUY:
You could read War and Peace in the time it takes him to hit. His pre-shot routine borders on obsessive compulsive disorder: Waggle, look up, look down, waggle, look up, pause, waggle, look up, look down, look up, waggle ... Then, just when you're ready to scream "HIT THE BALL!" or, in the case of Foul Mouth Guy: "HIT THE!@#$% BALL YOU!%$@#.'' He hits the ball. Tops it. Goes 10 feet. He's still away. "Waggle, look up, look down...''
BEST ADVICE: Sneak a Valium into your own beer. It's going to be a long day.
DOESN'T WATCH HIS BALL GUY:
Whenever he misses the fairway he launches into a tantrum instead of watching where the ball stops. Then he can't find it. To compound matters, he usually starts looking about 150 yards ahead of where it probably is. "Um, we're about 330 yards off the tee box, you think you hit it this far?'' you ask. "Well, I caught it, good,'' he says. Then, 120 yards back, somebody finds his 100 compression Top-Flite. Everybody makes half-hearted attempts to mask their chuckles as he begins his walk of shame back to the ball.
BEST ADVICE: Never ride in the same cart with him, that way you don't have to help him look.
He can't stop talking about his golf game. Even when there's nothing to tell. Dentists could put their patients to sleep with his lame and inane tales of three putting at Mill Woods. If anybody else has a golf story with an actual point to it, like banking a hole in one off a goose at Goose Hummock, Mr. Story- Teller cuts him off in mid-sentence and relates his most recent experience on the same hole: "In off a goose, eh, great. I took triple there. Put the first one in the drink, third in the sand...'' If you found a body on the 13th at Riverside, he says: "A body, eh, great. I took double there. Duffed my tee shot...''
BEST ADVICE: Smile and nod, and quickly change the subject from golf because you're all out of Valium.