Corporate Golf and the Viking

On Cherokee, my trusty steed of steel and chrome I took to the macadam planes of the East for what would be an adventure of weird and wonderful proportions. The desperado gang I’d once run with had split up but this cowboy hadn’t found his homestead yet and perhaps never would. You see I was built to wander, to continually search for that which will forever elude me and in the end I will have nothing but the trail I blazed and the collection of match books from every bar and club I’ve ever visited which I will be set upon at death and this towering pyre set aflame and it will burn and burn and burn and the smoke will be seen for generations to come. I am the boogey man in your dreams and the spiraling illusion in your acid trip. Try to touch me and you will see I am not there but have moved on to the next hole and have already teed it up. I am faster than my image and slower than my dreams. You can know me only if you open up to all possibilities and you can find me only if you believe. I am on the road again. Catch me if you can.

* * *

The New Year was closing in on me and despite my best efforts to outrun the bastard I found myself on the cusp of succumbing to its dastardly time table. Another year like a dead pet hamster was about to be flushed down the commode of time and I didn’t feel I’d done enough to make it memorable. Sure, I’d raised the usual Hell, had some minor adventures but I’d done nothing that would leave my name cemented on the front of a building…well, my name might be up on the front of some buildings in Graffiti but that’s another story that I won’t dig into at this time. At any rate these were my thoughts as I lay in bed on the morning of January 31st. I was determined to devise a plan to transcend time and was going to do a Yahoo search and search out Stephen Hawking and see if that genius bastard could help me out but when I arose and threw open the sash I found the day in question to look as if it had been snatched straightaway from a Monet painting by a deceivingly adept sorcerer. Yes, the sky was blue, the temperature hovering around the arm pit of 50 degrees and the air smelled like a vanilla snow cone, horse manure, and grass clippings. It was a day custom fabricated for golf and so I called my sister’s fiancé Odin and made plans for a day of debauchery on the links. Transcending time would have to wait for a rainy day.

I arrived at Dauphin Highlands Golf Course at eleven AM and parked in a flower bed because all the spots in the parking lot were taken. I was dressed in my Burmese Jungle boots and the wool Army surplus turtle neck sweater a former love interest had given me because she feared I would freeze after I gave my duster to my brother’s roommate Paco. Odin dresses much like me and also feels the current state of golf fashion is an overstatement in the practice of elite conformity and wears only that which he feels will ellicit a negative response from other highbrow golfers.

As I approached the clubhouse I saw in the distance a beverage cart pull up and stop by the rear entrance. I immediately recognized the svelte figure of my favorite blond cart girl, Kat. I’d met her some months earlier when she found me a ladder which I used to get my putter out of a pine tree beside the eighteenth green. Kat wasn’t your normal cart girl and not just because she was built like a Dallas Cowboys Cheerleader, not Kat was different because she was actually an attorney but moonlighted as a cart girl so she could observe people, particularly the male species and their odd rituals. I had the uneasy feeling she might be writing a book about such subject matter and that I might be the prime example for such an undertaking since she was always asking me questions that seemed to probe under the cuffs of my psychological short pants.

“What’s up kid?” I said, approaching her cart which she was loading with Miller Light.

”Same old,” she said. “I never thought I’d be out here this time of year.”

“I never make extensive plans because I’m trained to expect the unexpected. Also, I figure if I make too many plans the Grim Reaper might be listening in on my conversation and might show up as an uninvited guest at my next naked hot tub party.”

“You’re strange.”

“I’m strange? I’m not the one that’s out trying to save the world,” I said.

“No, you run from the world,” she said, closing the lid on the cooler.

“True, but it’s a scenic trip,” I said, walking towards the practice green. “How’s that book you’re writing coming along?”

“It’s going fine…hey, I never told you about my book. How did you know?”

“I didn’t but I do now,” I said. “I’ll catch you the first time you come around. Do you have any Troegs?”

“Sorry.”

“Tell your bastard boss Mott to get some Troegs out here.”

“Will do. See you,” she said, with a smile.

As the golf course came into view I noticed on its fairways and tees and greens what seemed like the invasion of the Polo brigade. There were people everywhere decked out in the height of golf fashion; bright eye popping greens, road flare oranges, and Gatorade yellows mixed into funky designs, laid out in stripes and stamped in checkered patterns. It mad me want to puke. I almost turned around and went back to my car but just then I spied Odin’s hulking physique on the practice green.

He had two dozen lined up and was putting one after another and sinking every ball. He was also barefoot. In warm weather he shuns golf shoes and plays barefoot and because of this and his knowledge and uncanny way of approaching the game I call him the Golf Guru. He is also of French and Scandinavian descent and has only on eye and wears an eye patch with a Grateful Dead skull and crossbones on it. He jokingly says he traded his one eye for wisdom but the truth be known he lost it in a barroom brawl when a biker stuck the business end of a broken bottle into his eye. From all reports that biker now drinks his breakfast through a Crazy Straw and spends his days making pot holders in a community center.

“It’s a little cold out here not to be wearing proper footwear,” I said, twirling my putter overhead like a helicopter propeller as I stepped onto the practice green.

“My Viking blood keeps me warm,” he said, which was followed by a hearty laugh.

“Right,” I said, “listen we need to get to the first tee.”

“The cart is right over there. Remember you’re the one that’s late.”

“Right,” I said, not really believing my own admission.

I drove the cart as Odin walked to the first tee. He said he needed to warm up a little and I didn’t mind because the walk was nearly a hundred yards and I didn’t want to wear myself out before we even started.

“Do you want me to keep your score?” I called to Odin as I parked the cart beside the fist tee.

“No, you cheat. I’ll keep my own score,” Odin said.

“Fine but you’ll have to write on the back of your hand or something because this scorecard is mine,” I said.

Odin gave me the finger. He was standing on the elevated first tee, his mane of spiraling red hair and a fiery beard billowed out in the wind giving him the air of a biblical Moses. He pointed his driver skyward and just as he did the sun slipped out from behind a cloud and he was illuminated. He twirled his driver several times like a majorette and worked himself into a frenzy, his freckles obscured behind an agitated mask of red. “Mother fucker!” he yelled and run up to his ball and swung. The ball shot out and rose and rose and rose. It seemed to pierce the sky and burrow into the warm fluffiness of the clouds.

“Magnificent,” I said, “now watch this.”

I’m quite flexible and like to show off and so I hopped up in the air and landed in a split. My khakis split in two. I could feel the wind blowing between my legs but I ignored the sensation, teed up my ball, and swung like a madman. My ball shot off the tee and soared screaming down the fairway.

“Nice split,” Odin said. “Do you want to change those pants?”

“No, I have a sewing kit in my bag,” I said undoing my belt.

I took off my pants; secured my sewing kit and we were off down the cart path.

“Watch the bumps,” I said, as I tried to thread my needle.

Odin lit a spliff and inhaled.

“So who in the Hell is this Dream Girl you sister keeps telling me about? She said her name was Dulcinea or something like that.”

“Damn it, she swore she wouldn’t tell anyone,” I said. “She lives in a town not far from here.”

“Where?” Odin asked.

“In yonder village.”

“Are you making this up?”

“She’s the loftiest princess in the world.”

“Here, smoke this,” Odin said, handing me the spliff.

I took the spliff and inhaled.

“Your sister wanted me to talk to you about this dream girl thing. I don’t think it’s my place but she’s worried about you. She’s afraid the best part of your brain has been fried by your uh…indulgences.”

“She thinks I’m mad?”

“She thinks these…adventures you go on are misguided.”

“What do you think?” I said and handed the spliff back to him.

“I don’t consciously make an effort to think it gets in the way of the natural flow of my brain. I let my mind wander like a rain gorged stream.”

“It sounds like you’re the one that’s mad,” I said.

“Could be,” Odin said as the cart came to a stop.

We got out and each being about 150 yards from the hole secured our seven irons. I was first to take a whack and hit the ball onto the green about fifteen feet from the pin. Odin hit his ball about five feet from the pin.

“Bastard,” I said.

After we’d putted out we were making our way to our cart when Kat pulled up in the beverage cart. Tears were streaming down her face.

“What bastard did this to you?” I said.

“The guy’s behind you that just teed off, some corporate assholes here on an outing. One of them grabbed my ass,” Kat said, her mascara running down her cheeks.

“Let’s go Odin. It’s time to kick some corporate ass,” I said.

“No, please don’t,” Kat said.

“But they need to be taught a lesson,” I said.

“No, I’ll take care of them,” Kat said.

It’s not my nature to idly sit by if injustices have befallen my friends but I knew Kat was more than able to take care of herself and I grudgingly accepted her plea for us not to intervene.

“Okay, but if they bother you again I will teach them a lesson,” I said.

“Okay, I have to get back to work. I’ll see you soon,” Kat said and took off.

“Keep on eye on those cocksuckers,” I said.

Odin nodded and we were off to the next tee.

As I got out of the cart at the next tee Odin removed a large ball of tin foil from the breast pocket of his bib overalls.

“What the Hell is that?” I asked.

He carefully unwrapped the tinfoil and pulled out what looked like a turkey leg.

“Turkey?”

“Turkfu. It’s a tofu turkey leg. Your sister made it.”

“Turkfu? Sounds like a Kung Fu movie starring foul.”

“Do you want some?” he asked.

“Do I look like I’m starving?” I said.

A raven landed on the roof of our cart.

“Stand back,” I said, “those things carry rabies.”

“Birds don’t carry rabies,” Odin said and reached out towards the black bird. It looked at his outstretched arm and walked out onto it like it was the gang plank on a pirate ship.

“What did you do spread peanut butter on your forearm before we came out here?” I asked.

Odin placed the Turkfu leg in the crook of his elbow. The raven looked at Odin and then the Turkfu leg and then grabbed it and flew away.

“That was fucked up,” I said. “That bird just flew off with a fake bird’s leg.”

“It is what it is,” Odin said.

We teed off and then took off down the cart path. We had both pulled our balls right and were taking our time on our next shot because a foursome was still on the green.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of white which was followed by painful impact. I teetered and nearly fell but my pride wouldn’t allow for it. Slightly dazed I looked to the tee some two hundred and fifty yards behind us. I looked up to the tee some two hundred and fifty yards away and saw a gawking figure standing with driver in hand.

“You bastard,” I screamed. “You could at least yell fore!”

“It’s those corporate cocksuckers,” Odin said.

I took out my Bushnell Yardage Pro Laser Rangefinder and looked back at the tee from where the ball had come. I could see Kat there and three of the golfers surrounding her cart. It appeared she was crying again.

Something in me snapped.

“Let’s go,” I said, but Odin was already in the golf cart and was heading back to the tee where the corporate cocksuckers were harassing Kat. If there was anyone crazier than me it was that bastard Odin.

“Wait,” I cried chasing after him.

I barely managed to catch up to the cart grabbing onto the framework of the roof and hoisting myself up on the platform the held our golf bags.

“Attack,” I cried.

“You have raised the ire of the mighty Odin,” Odin cried. His eye patch flapped in the wind which made the snapping noise of a gambler rapidly shuffling cards.

“Unhand her you cocksuckers,” I yelled.

I managed to work my way up on top of the golf cart and then slid down into the passenger’s seat which was no easy feat in a speeding golf cart. I looked in Odin’s beard and there was a golf ball nestled there like a robin’s egg. I didn’t say anything about it.

I reached into my bag and took out my driver and hanging out of the side of the cart I held it like a lance as we charged forward. My partially sewed pants, sitting on the dashboard, blew out the side of the cart but there was no time to stop now.

“This is your day of reckoning,” I yelled. “No more will you rape and pillage.”

Kat hauled off and kicked one of the corporate golfers right in the groin. He slumped to the ground.

Odin hit the brakes on the golf cart and it slid sideways stopping just in front of their parked carts. I hopped out of the cart and poked one of the golfers in the ribs and then circled them so them rapidly so they would think I was mad. They all looked as if they’d been cut from the same corporate mold, their hair parted to the right side, their pants all pleated khakis, and their Polo shirts all white; their names embroidered on the breast: Charles, Edgar, Ryan, and Mike.

“This is none of your business,” the leader Edgar said between clenched teeth. He was hunkered over and clutching his nut sack and the only things that I noticed which distinguished him from his cohorts was a giant mole on his left cheek, gold rimmed spectacles, and an odor wafting off him that was halfway between a pine tree air freshener and a moldy apple core.

“Everything is my business,” I said and smacked Edgar hard in the back of the legs with my driver.

“I’m going to sue you,” Edgar said, gripping the back of his legs. He grimaced and my first inclination was that there was something amiss but I ignored my instincts figuring it was the potent pot making me paranoid.

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” Mike asked, with a tone that made me want to kick his ass.

“My leg hair is plentiful therefore I have no need for pants,” I said.

“Ah ha,” Edgar said, as he lunged forward tackling me and knocking me into Kat and Odin. The three of us tumbled off the elevated tee and Edgar jumped to his feet and made off with his three friends.

“After them,” I cried, jumping to my feet.

“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” Kat asked as I helped her to her feet.

“Too constricting,” I said, “come on Odin.”

Odin and I piled in the cart.

“Oh brave warrior,” Kat said, “slay these terrible villains for me.”

Or did she say that? I’m not sure but I’ll put it in there just in case she did say it.

We tore off after the corporate cocksuckers and what they couldn’t have possibly known was that I was in close with many of the staff at Dauphin Highlands and our cart’s governor had been disabled so we could easily run those mother fuckers down. In an instant we were right on the ass of the second cart as it tore down the center of the fairway.

The passenger of the second cart, Ryan was fiddling with something. I couldn’t quite tell what he was doing until he threw the first golf ball at us. I ducked and the ball hit my golf bag behind me. He threw another and another. Luckily he had poor aim and only one of the balls grazed my arm.

“You’re dead,” Odin cried, defiantly raising a meaty fist.

I reached into my pocket, removed several golf balls and then stood. Holding onto the frame of the roof I leaned out the side of the cart, reared back and threw a golf ball. It hit a golf bag on the back of the cart and rolled onto the ground. The driver of the cart, Mike, looked back and gave me the finger. I took another ball and tossed it again at the driver. The ball bounced off the dashboard of the cart and back into Mike’s face. He tried to avoid the ball and in doing so lost control of his cart. Ryan and Mike both bailed and their cart flipped and skidded down the hill turned upside down.

“Onward,” Odin cried. “We’ll take out the other cart and then beat their asses. I want their leader.”

“We could get sued for this,” I said.

“We could also sue McDonald’s if we spill hot coffee on ourselves, which I figure will offset the expense of our little adventure today,” Odin said.

“Right,” I said. “Fuck corporate America.”

Odin rammed down the gas pedal and we tore up turf as we screamed after the first cart carrying Edgar and Charles.

Edgar, the head corporate honcho with the giant mole on his cheek, was driving and kept glancing nervously back at us. I bet he’d never run into anything this crazy in the board room. Charles reached back into a golf bag and took out a club.

“Look out,” Odin cried as a club came flying at us like a boomerang.

The club hit the front of our cart and we ran over it.

“So they want to play that way,” Odin said. “Take the wheel.”

I took the wheel and pressed my foot on the gas as Odin grabbed a two iron out of his bag. He held onto the frame just as I had, reared back with his free hand and tossed the 2 iron like a spear. The club soared through the air and the sun reflected off the steel shaft causing it to look like a bolt of lightening scorching through the sky. With deadly accuracy the end of the club struck Edgar in the back of the head..

“Ah ha,” Odin cried

Edgar slammed on the brakes and the cart slid sideways across the 2nd green and smashed into a bank. I was so overcome with joy that I didn’t notice the bunker in front of us until it was too late. Our cart hit the bunker and flew up into the air. I looked over at Odin and he was wearing a smile so wide it stuck out of both sides of his fluffy beard.

I dove out of the cart just before it landed and Odin did the same. Our cart hit the other side of the bunker and flipped. Our clubs flew up in the air and were scattered all over the bunker.

I stood and brushed the sand off myself. It seemed everyone on the golf course had stopped and was staring at us.

“Come on let’s get our clubs and get out of here,” I said.

As we quickly gathered our clubs Kat pulled up.

“Hurry up, hop on the back and I’ll take you to your cars,” she said.

“You could get fired,” I said.

“I don’t think I’ll be around after today anyway,” she said. “And besides I have enough research for my book anyway thanks to you.”

Odin and I hoped on the back of the beverage cart and Kat took off. Unfortunately I sat in an open cooler and my bare legs and scantily covered ass were immersed in ice water.

“Golf is never a leisurely past time with you,” Odin said, as we drove off.

“Nothing is a leisurely past time when I’m involved,” I said.

Kat took us through a path in the woods that brought us out up behind the clubhouse by our vehicles.

“I owe you one,” I said, putting my hand on Kat’s back.

She pulled away.

“Believe me you don’t owe me anything. It’s probably better we don’t talk again,” she said.

“You’ve heard of my search?”

“You’re search? I don’t get it,” Kat said.

“He’s just blabbering about nothing,” Odin said, stepping in between us.

“I’ll never stop being me because it’s fashionable to be something else. I’m flawed but my heart has always been in the right place,” I said.

Odin whispered something to Kat and she drove off.

“What did you say to her?” I asked.

“The second law of Thermodynamics states that disorder always increases with time, that you cannot finish anything with as much energy as you started, that perpetual motion is impossible. Your antics are continually escalating but this can’t go on forever. Eventually this must end and I can’t imagine it will be a good end,” Odin said holding up his bent putter.

“You’re right it won’t end well or maybe it will be a good end but that’s what I have to find. I haven’t found my dream girl but perhaps I will and maybe one day we will ride off into the sunset in Cherokee.”

“I’m sure you will find what you’re looking for my friend,” Odin said resting a hand on my shoulder. “Now, I am off I must procure your sister several bottles of her favorite wine. It’s the price I pay for playing golf.”

“Right,” I said, as Odin hurried off through the parking lot.

I looked up and saw the raven sitting on a power line with the Turkfu leg in its mouth. Its head was bobbing up and down and it looked like it was laughing at me.

"What's the matter? Haven't you ever seen someone wearing wet boxer in December before?" I yelled.

The raven didn't answer.

I made my way to my steel and chrome steed Cherokee and threw my bent and twisted clubs in the back. I noticed Cherokee was in need of a bath when I brushed against her side and my sweater became was smudged with gray mud.

“Don’t worry old girl,” I said, running my hand up and down Cherokee’s side. “I’ll run you through that car wash off of Derry Street you like so much and then its high octane gasoline for dinner but first I have to go put some pants on.”

Driving out of the parking lot I turned up Muse on the stereo and the music filled my head to the top and all the days events were pushed out and in this way I was able to cope with whatever I’d done and whatever lay ahead. You see, I cannot live with regrets; they are the stuff of melancholy and for people that haven’t learned how to forgive themselves. I forgive myself and I move on. I’m not big on memories either. I figure you can be a memory or you can be the moment, it’s your choice. The past is for the dead and if you want to stay there I will have to bid you adieu. See you on the other side.

P.S Kat, you are more than exciting enough to be in the blog. Look at all the things you’ve done. Keep your head up and look at the stars and not what you’ve just walked through, you can wash that off later with the garden hose.
Peace.
The other me.

And A.G. is that your corset hanging on the back of my bathroom door? And how do you get into that thing? I won’t be able to see your abs if you wear that. Keep it skimpy.