"But Colonel Gentleman, is it possible to merge the sophistication and white privilege of golf with the esteemed literary tradition of semi-functional alcoholism, topped off with a dash of 'Play Hard' to give its some balls?"
"Well, barring the racism and misogyny, Billy, you bet it is!"
You know, I think I'll revert back to a prose description, as my dramatic dialogue was already taking a turn that could only have ended with Billy choking on an ether rag and being hastily shoved into the cramped trunk of a modestly priced American sedan.
Anyway, if Scotland and Ireland had a baby, it would be Pub Golf [surprisingly, there is no documented instance of the Irish and Scots interbreeding, due chiefly to 1) the staggering "awesome" that would be said progeny, and 2), neither the Irish or Scots are good swimmers and have nonexistent navies, so they didn't really have opportunity until last century, and by then tradition had already sunk its roots too deeply to be ignored]. The rules look a little something like this:
If you had to describe those babies in one word, I bet I know what it would be: "small." Allow me to help. The general rules for this most sacred of games are as follows:
1. Girls are allowed a 4 stroke handicap
2. Everyone gets one Mulligan (a "do over," for the uninitiated), but you are penalized 2 strokes on that hole
3. Water hazard - no going to the bathroom while you're on the green (i.e. while mid-drink)
4. A stroke counts as every time you stop drinking; for food, a stroke counts as a bite
5. 1 stroke penalties: poor drinking form (to be voted on by a majority of the group); improper scoring; party fouls
6. at the 9th hole, each successive hole-in-one (i.e. each Irish car bomb) after the first drink will reduce your score by one stroke
7. lowest score wins (you are disqualified if you puke at any point during the round)
If you're anything like me, you wept for joy at the sight of this, as if hearing Maria Callas sing "La Mamma Morta" for the first time or seeing a dolphin leap out of the water as a unicorn hurtles over a rainbow. Sure, it may seem like I'm exaggerating there, but as I typically only associate with people who enjoy abusing their livers as much as I do...let's just say I know my audience.
The list on the left is the specific round for this Friday night. Eight bars and one eatery, eight drinks and one snack. In case you can't read that one either, I've reproduced it below:
Hole--------------------------Club----------------------------Par
Salute Wine Bar----------Glass of Wine-------------------------3
The Galley---------------Vodka Tonic--------------------------3
Finn McCool's-----------Pint of Guiness------------------------6
Lula's Cocina----------Cadillac Margarita-----------------------4
World Cafe------------------Mojito-----------------------------3
Holy Guacamole-----------1 soft taco---------------------------3
Rick's Tavern-----------Pint of B- or C- ------------------------3
Library Ale House--------Pint of Ale----------------------------4
O'Briens----------------Irish Car Bomb-------------------------1
Par for the Course: --------------------------------------------31
On behalf of the hard-hitting journalism I always bring to bear on this blog, I'll post a detailed account of as much as I can remember of the night, along with any apocrypha that may account for the lost time. In the meantime, dearest reader, I propose a gentleman's wager: How do you think I'll score at Pub Golf this weekend? As with any thesis statement, don't forget to support your general claim with justification to convince any potentially unsympathetic reader. Whoever guesses the right score, or comes closest, wins (ties go to the most accurate justification/reasoning).
If I die of alcohol poisoning this weekend...I guess that makes my wife the winner.
6 comments:
Based on empirical date collected over the last few years, I feel confident that the following projected results will indeed play out, resulting in a score of about 25. You will skillfully complete rounds 1-3. You will get a stomachache halfway through your Cadi Margarita at Lula’s Cocina and pretend not to notice as Kelly subtly finishes it for you. You will not drink the mojito. You will pick it back up after the soft taco and return to the game. You may or may not eat more than one soft taco. You will have to make the decision between puking and refusing the Irish car bomb, and you will choose the former.
This projection is based on your body weight, your general aversion to tequila, your instinctual knowledge of the biophysical ramifications of mixing mint cocktails with anything else, and your tenacious refusal to quit, even in the face of possible stomach pumping. Best of luck to you and be sure to write Kelly’s phone number on your arm in case a good Samaritan finds you passed out in an alley at the end of the night.
Wow. You might win just for the thoroughness of your description. And because you had me coming it at 6 strokes under par!
Where's my invite?
waitwaitwaitwaitwait...
First of all, I feel like Da Vinci must have after seeing a painting for the first time. As in, "This exists, and I can be a part of it?!" Secondly, so long as there are no shots involved, I will put you at a 27. Because there will be a Mulligan, and it will be at a tequila round, but GOD HELP ME YOU WILL DRINK EVERYTHING PUT IN FRONT OF YOU!!
I hope the winner get to wear a green jacket, while bombed out of their tree, around downtown Rivertucky. And, much as I love you, I am putting the safe money on Ryan to win it all.
Ridiculous. You've skipped Joe's Fine Wines & French Fries in favor of Rick's? And a vodka tonic at the Galley? Weak sauce, Jimmy-Jam. A true gentlemen drinks Courvoisier at the Galley. Or a draft beer with a plastic mermaid perched on the edge.
You should be ashamed of yourself.
Greg, did I mention that you are my favorite of Jim's friends? I mean, you just sound like you know what you are talking about.
The golf game was played in LA and I wasn't there - but I played my own version around the house and I'm pretty sure I won.
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