Dr. Chet Stephens: Public Golf Courses
By Jock | April 27, 2008
Category: Dr. Chet Stephens
Dear Chet: Dude! Me and my fraternity brothers were just sitting around talking about how WASTED we were last night when your advice column came up. We all really admire you and all that you stand for. We were wondering: have you ever played on a public golf course? We know a guy who did once and he said it was scary. Party on!
Villanova Frat Boy
Dear Villanova Frat Boy:
Villanova, huh? My eldest daughter spent a semester at Villanova. That was before she ran away to Nairobi with her Linguistics Professor. From what I understand her village is now receiving mail, so if you see her hymen around campus somewhere, let me know and I’ll mail it back to her!
Anyway, to answer your question, yes I have played on a public golf course, and yes it was ever bit as traumatic as you would imagine. It was back in the ‘80s, when business was booming and Reagan was our fearless leader. At the time, I was engaged to my second wife, Patti, the social worker from Mount Holyoke. Things were going along fine, but one day she casually mentioned how I was “disconnected from reality” and that I should “make an effort to get out of my bubble and see how the less fortunate live.” So, in order to shut her up, I told her I’d go down to the local public golf course and spend the day.
I felt like I was in a remake of that movie, Heart of Darkness. Firstly, in the parking lot there were a bunch of old men sitting around in lawn chairs. Do you think even one of them came over to take my bag? Not a chance! I honked a few times, and whistled, but no one moved except to give me the finger. I gave it back, figuring it was some kind of local custom of the natives. They all seemed pleased.
Then, after I lugged my bag all the way halfway to the clubhouse, and nearly snapped my collarbone in two, some little black kid finally came along to save me. “Thank you,” I said, wiping my brow, and reached into my pocket for a tip. But wouldn’t you know it—before I could pull out my wallet the little guy was gone! Holy smokes! I thought. These black people have nothing, and so they expect nothing in return! What a social concept! What a fine boy!
And so, feeling the positive energy of the universe again, I went into the clubhouse to pay my greens-fee. There, they paired me up with an Asian gentleman named Ling Lang and directed us to the tee.
“Where you club?” asked Ling Lang.
“My clubs?” I translated. “Why, I’m just waiting for my fine young caddie to bring them down. Say, Ling Lang, where is your caddie?”
“Me no caddie.”
“No caddie?” I laughed. “That’s a good one. Who the hell’s going to carry your clubs?”
“Me carry,” he said, as if it were normal.
It was only then I learned that public golf courses have no caddies, and that the little black kid, who I’d mistaken for a caddie, had actually stolen my clubs. God bless him, the industrious bastard!
Anyway, after I got my rental set, the next thing I recall is bending down to stick my tee into the ground. My friend, I would’ve had better luck having sexual intercourse with a sidewalk crack. “How the hell do you get the tee in there?” I asked Ling Lang. But he just smiled with those little purple teeth of his and gave me a double thumbs up.
Let’s just say the round was “an experience”. The fairways were so long it was like walking on the back of the Phillie Phanatic. The greens had more pock marks than my illegitimate son. On the seventh hole a shopping cart came floating down the creek. By the twelfth tee there was a homeless man selling used golf balls from an egg carton. At one point I wandered into the woods and ended up in an abandoned train yard. It was very disorienting. By the time I finished I was so turned around I didn’t even know where I was anymore or what game I was playing.
Looking back, though, I’m glad I did it. My Jew lawyer Morrie often says that sometimes you have to challenge yourself to grow as a person. And I agree. Had I not played a public golf course once in the mid-1980s, I would never have become the person I am today. I would never have met Ling Lang, my faithful companion. And I would never have met that little black kid who stole my clubs and pawned them. I still think about them sometimes, when I associate with minorities, though, admittedly, that is not very often.
So what do I have to say to you, future Captains of Industry? Well, obviously, with regard to golf, to include the public is to ruin the spirit of the game; that much is common knowledge. But if you want to see how the other half lives, just once, go down to your local public course and tee it up. It’s almost like entering a whole different world. When you finish (if you finish) you will be able to tell your grandchildren about the time you hit a flop shot over a dead body. And that alone is worth the price of admission.
Dr. Chet Stephens was formerly America’s #1 Incarcerated Advice Columnist. Last Spring, he was released from prison, after serving 3 years for tax evasion. He has agreed to “occasionally” continue his award-winning, misogynistic advice column Replace Your Divots: Dr. Chet Stephens’ Thoughts on Love, Life & the Game of Golf. Chet is a 37 handicap.