FOUR! Golf Hacker Grievances

I am no Tiger Woods but I love the game of golf. I have played since a very young age. But even after more than 30 years of whacking around that little, frustrating white-demon of a ball, I am still a painfully average player. At this stage of my life, I have accepted the fact that golf is a hobby, at best, and I simply try to enjoy the experience. With so few opportunities to play, when I do have the chance (i.e a Window for your dedicated C.I.B.F-ers!) I need to soak in every minute of it.

This brings me to the point.

When I have the time to get out on the links, I want maximize my fun. In a perfect world, I have three great friends playing along side of me rounding out the foursome. However, many times only one or two of your compadres are available to join you on the course.

And herein lies the danger.

For you non-golfers, there is an unwritten rule that applies to groups less than four. Most golf courses, both public and private, prefer (dare I say demand) foursomes whenever possible to keep the pace of play moving and eliminate excess groups. Therefore, if you only have two guys in your group, golf course personnel do their best to pair you up with another two. Follow me?

Now, if you belong to a private club then this practice is somewhat less painful. Typically, you will be somewhat acquainted with your new playing partners and you can still have a pleasant round.

However, for the public course hackers, it is like a ‘buyer beware’ sticker for the golf world. Regardless of skill, personality, color, religion or creed you can be paired with ANYONE. And, frankly, I usually hate these people for a number of reasons.

Here is why…

A public golf course is, oftentimes, the ‘Village of the Damned’ for amateur players. Rules, restrictions and etiquette are frequently thrown out the window in the name of “everybody should have the privilege to play golf”. You know what? No, not everybody should.

While I am not trying to profile here, public links players can often be weekend warriors that march out every Saturday or Sunday to pound the living bejesus out of the ball, not to mention Mother Nature.

Their skill level is usually a C-.
Their grasp of the rules and regulations borders on criminal negligence.
Their respect for course property is like a vandal in heat.

Getting the picture so far?

Here is a visual in case you still can’t quite understand…

The Attire
Imagine two forty-something year old guys. Each dressed in a one-size-too-small golf shirt with a coffee/spaghetti sauce/blood stain on the front of it, a pair of cut off ‘jhorts’ (READ: jhorts= jean shorts), and some old school 1980s Spot Bilt coaches shoes that serve as a substitute for spikes. Odds are they have on some flimsy visor that was given to them for free that reads, “My Favorite Hole is the 19th!”

The Equipment
Golf rules clearly state that a player can have no more that 14 clubs in his/her bag. The weekend hack-attack usually has around 18. The mix of ‘weapons’ typically consists of a miniature golf putter he stole during his kid’s field trip to Canobie Lake, a set of irons that started rusting during the Clinton administration and, amazingly, a brand new driver (which he probably won in the office raffle). Also, these types always have the cool (and incredibly useless) gadgets in their possession. Ball retrieving devices, yardage telescopes, and survival kits are often tucked neatly away in their Budweiser Select golf bag (yeah, the bag is yet another freebie they got from their brother-in-law who won it at dart league).

The Conversation
While I can not prove this fact I am confident there is an unknown, but absolutely quantifiable and scientific, ratio to how bad a golfer plays that is directly proportional to his I.Q. The worse the player, the worse the conversation you will need to endure through a grueling 18 holes. For a player that consistently scores higher than 100 (more than 30 shots higher than the course predicts a player a should shoot) odds are he is discussing NASCAR and the arm wrestling contests between he and his supervisor at the tattoo parlor.

Is the picture getting clearer now?

But, let’s not forget about the most important and telling attribute of the true hack…

The Game
Well, here is the true pinnacle (Get it? Pinnacle! Nevermind, you are probably a hack too!) of the problem. The public course protagonist in this fictional tale based on true events, is simply, just…AWFUL.

The swing is the equivalent of a sugar-high, blind-folded 6 year old waiving at a candy filled piñata.
The contact is more depressing than a Catholic Junior High School Dance.
The follow through is like that of a murder-weapon-hiding cop.
As far as putting, you might as well hand him a spade shovel or a sledgehammer; would not make a difference.

So, what can I tell you?

This article is not an attack on amateur golfers – I am one.
This is not some elitist country club snob spewing his opinions at the masses – I hate those guys.
I am the everyday golfer, but that does not mean that a large majority of the hackers do not annoy me; you do.

Look, I do not pretend to be Jack Nicholson…or is it Phil Micklaus? Or …ah well….what does it matter? And while I am not God’s gift to golf, I am….somebody. (Sorry, couldn’t come up with anything better there).


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The Unemployment Chronicles: Hi, my name is Frank and I am a Soccer Mom

If you have followed the trials and tribulations of my seemingly endless job search via C.I.B.F.’s The Unemployment Chronicles series then you have a clear understanding of the insane journey I have undergone since leaving the full time work world.

In this ‘spare time’, I have experimented with several childish and, at times, outright moronic activities. From drinking morning Bloody Mary’s and taking bubble baths to growing mustaches and buying Cadillacs.

In this break from reality, I have mastered a plethora of useless skills. The daytime TV schedule; memorized from Ellen to Oprah. When my Sunday paper arrives I now can quickly sift through the circulars and identify the ultimate deal on hot dogs, cereal and detergent.

As far as the whole “stay at home Dad” role I have been forced to take on? Well, let’s just say I can now teach a PhD level course at flippin Hahhh-vid!

I am the league MVP at making kids lunches.

The F. Lee Bailey of settling child disputes.

Drop offs and pick ups you ask? I drive blindfolded.

In the high stakes game of little girls’ hair styles - ponytails, pigtails, braids and barrettes - I am the long lost savant son of Paul Mitchell and Vidal Sassoon

Kids parties and playdates? Chuck Norris drives ME there.

And even after conquering all of these challenges listed above, I still had the time to work on projects, job hunt and, of course, write this nationally recognized blog each week.

That is…until a couple weeks back.

I am have come to the debilitating reality that, as Alice Cooper so brilliantly shouted, SCHOOL’S OUT FOR SUMMER, and my self-proclaimed mastery of this household has reached a critical crossroads. Just when I thought I could match up against the likes of Carol Brady, June Cleaver and ALL 3 men (Selleck, Danson and the other guy) from 3 Men and a Baby ….summer is here and I am back to square one.

Allow me to elaborate…

Monday, 6:00AM:
The household awakens. My wife gets ready, administers a few chores for me to manage during the day and heads off to her meaningful professional life. I lay in bed until the last possible second when these 3 cherubs of mine force me to get upright and get moving because today marked the true beginning of summer life at home!

One of them is in summer school, one in soccer camp and one in some reading program (Really? Reading Camp? Must take after the mother because I remember taking special pride in my ability to forget how to read during the summer hiatus)

I drop all of them off before 9:00AM. But, unlike school, these activities only last 2-3 hours, so instead of attempting to do something productive with my day, I am now forced to run around and deal with mundane tasks such as the bank, the food store, the post office and then hurry back for picks up. Did I mention it is also 95 degrees?!?! In a blink of an eye they are all back in my possession and it is only NOON!

To make matters more difficult, my wife has ramped up her professional commitments and is working MORE hours as a dedicated hospital nurse.

While I am very thankful for her willingness to do anything it takes to help the family, I am officially jealous.

Her day was spent assisting mothers and their newborn babies; my day was centered on Spray N Washing a pair of Size 5 capri pants covered in grape popsicle.

She was applauded in a newspaper article for her incredible efforts (yes, she really was); I was thanked by some pimple-faced high school kid for remembering to put sunscreen on my child.

It is just too depressing for words (well, I guess it isn’t because I am sitting here typing in this heat which I am now convinced is the seventh circle of hell).

OK, I need to stop. Guess I will go run through the sprinkler before my afternoon cry.

A Lie-fe Lesson

(As a pre-cursor to this post, please note that I am not advocating nor condoning the act of lying. What I am suggesting is that a certain level of “politeness” needs to be maintained in order for our society to function as a whole. Read on.)


According to the great short-cut-creators for the diction deficient, Wikipedia, a lie is defined as follows…

A lie (also called prevarication, falsehood) is a type of deception in the form of an untruthful statement, especially with the intention to deceive others

We all know what a lie is. And whether you are lying about how fast you were driving or the location of the missing body in question, lying, in my experience, will eventually catch up to you. When it does, there is always a price to pay…be it the disappointed look from a parent as you enter a ‘time out’ or the desolate stare from your new cellmate, Bubba, as you enter Alcatraz.

In the incredibly below average film, “The Invention of Lying” (filmed in – cue the Bruce Springsteen background music – my hometown of Lowell, MA) they glimpse into a society where lies do not exist. While the movie was a flop, the lesson is clear; a world with total and complete honesty is dysfunctional.

Nonetheless, most people would agree that lying is a ‘bad thing’, but I contend that without some presence of lies in our everyday life, we would not be able to maintain any of our relationships; with family, friends, co-workers …and so on.

“White lies” are usually told in situations that have no serious bearings or consequences. White lies are the things we say just to keep the day moving and avoid unnecessary conflict. White lies work. White lies are good (or was that ‘Greed’? Have to double check with my moral compass, Gordon Gecko.)

Now before I have to fight off the attacks from all of you God-fearing-Bible-quoting purists, let me explain. How many times in a typical day are we “forced” to tell a white lie? Think about it.

Some examples…

“Hey Steve, so sorry I am late for the meeting…but the traffic was just…”
(Right…and by “traffic” do you mean “hangover”?)

“Julie, I love your sweater! So flattering on you.”
(You excitedly state to your boss as she waddles down the hall wearing something that was spawn from the closet of Bill Cosby & Thornton Mellon's Tall and Fat Collection)

“Oh my goodness, your baby is gorgeous!”
(What you really mean is, ‘Where did you find Shrek the 5th? At the orphanage in a Leper colony?) [that one is for the lovely ladies in the LGH MIU]


Just the tip of the lie-ceberg…


“Honey that was a delicious dinner. I’d love some more but I am totally stuffed”
(After being served Central American prison gruel from her cookbook of horror)

“Boy, Bill, young Billy is sure turning out to be one heck of a little ball player,”
(Moments after his kid dropped 3 fly balls and struck out looking 4 times to cost his team the game. Hey Billy, you stink, pal.)

“Ahh, kids, thanks for this beautiful Cat in Hat, glow in the dark bow tie! I will wear this to work tomorrow”
(Sure I will. Sorry kids, truth hurts)

And that is the point. Certain truths will only cause pain and, at the very least, insult the people on the receiving end.

Just last week I forgot to give my wife an important phone message. When asked about it a few days later, I informed her that I did, in fact, tell her about it (when I knew right well I did not). After all, that is just going to cause ME pain and suffering. (Whew, I am so glad she does not read this blog!) Alright, that specific logic may be a little off point, but you know what I mean?

In closing, I am not endorsing anyone taking the stand as a character witness in the Night Strangler trial, but I am preaching that a healthy amount of teensy-weensy-half-truths will surely result in a more happy and harmonious existence.

Just remember, you can’t spell LIFE without L-I-E.

Isn’t that right, Dr. Drew?