Golf in a Hurricane

First of all, I like to play golf. I have my own set of clubs with my super-cool Alabama covers on the woods. I even have special tees and a neat little white glove; although sometimes I feel like Michael Jackson when I wear it. But the deal is, I like to play 9 holes. That's it. Anything over and I'm bored, irritated and ready for a beer at the clubhouse.

So why I signed up to play in an 18-hole tournament on Saturday is beyond me. Could be that my regular partners were playing. Could be that the tournament was for something at work I was in charge of. Could be that I just had a momentary lapse of sanity - of which I am known to have. Either way I did it and resigned myself to the fact that at least I was playing with friends.

So Saturday came and so did Hurricane/Tropical Storm Fay -- flooding the entire southeast! But when you are in the Air Force, especially at Maxwell Air Force Base, unless it is lightening and thundering, you will do whatever the outdoor activity is. So in this case, the 60 folks who signed up for the golf tourney knew that because the skies were only drizzling at 7 am, we would be playing golf. By the 8 am start time, rain was between drizzling and pouring and going back and forth.

Resigned to my fate, I threw on my parka and jumped into the cart. For the next four hours, I hit the green a total of 3 times. I also managed to hit a tree, a sand trap, the water and not one single hole with my putter. By hole 15, the club was slipping out of my hand spraying water farther than the golf ball. And I was counting down how many strokes we had left.
Bryan hit one. Then Barzya. Then Kirchner. My meager contribution may well have been forgotten but ... one hole down. Can't see a thing through the water that is now streaming out of the gray sky at full force. Still no thunder. Clouds hovered and we hit another one.

It was time for the BBQ that awaited us at the clubhouse. It took everything I had not to be a whining little girl on the 17th hole. My sunflower seeds might have well sprouted with the amount of water in the bag. All the clubs were covered with half the fairway grass. The goodie bags that Kirchner and I put in the cart were soaked through and completely worthless. Where's the darn beer?!

18 holes down and I could have won Daytona with the speed I put on our little cart. As soon as we got back, 59 other people had war stories of golf clubs flying through the air, water soaking their socks, and just how miserable they were on the last 4 holes. I wasn't alone! And with all the giveways during lunch, it was almost worth it!