Beach golf... absolutely love it. As almost always happens when I read Richard's writings, something he says reminds me of something in my life. This time it's "campus golf." 8 or 9 of my fraternity brothers (ITB Theta Delts!) grabbing a wedge of some sort and a golf ball or two (in case one went down a sewer drain or got lost in the Bernice Miller Crocus Gardens) and going from our West Quad, across the parking lot thru the East Quad, then across Sheridan Road, desperately trying not to hit random passers by or automobiles. Laughter, catcalls, insults and the like filling the air. Fellow Northwestern students, with an occasional professor or administrator) bemusedly observing the absurdity of the crazy guys trying to hit "The Rock" (a Northwestern campus institution) with a Top Flite or Pinnacle found in the bottom of a golf bag pocket -- the Titleist DT's didn't do well bouncing on streets or sidewalks, so they stayed in the bag. We'd work our way down to South Beach, and try to flop sand shots up onto the lifeguard's chair (while he's not there of course). Last one to get one up there buys a round of beers from the Coke machine in the basement of the frat house -- $0.25 for a can of Old Style, listed as "Efficiency Juice" so the Coke delivery guy wouldn't rat us out for selling beer in the leased machine! I actually think that hitting pitches and chips from garden mulch, or the manicured lawn of Long Field, helped my game when I got the chance to wander off campus for a round at Chick Evans Golf Club. $12 to walk, with mats on concrete pads for tees, and the wondrous Glen View Club across Golf Road (visible thru the trees in the spring and fall, there to make us wonder what it would be like to actually play on those verdant green fairways where Willie Anderson, Bobby Jones, Gene Sarazen once teed it up).
Thanks again, Richard, for stimulating my imagination and memories about this silly game that we love.
Beach golf... absolutely love it. As almost always happens when I read Richard's writings, something he says reminds me of something in my life. This time it's "campus golf." 8 or 9 of my fraternity brothers (ITB Theta Delts!) grabbing a wedge of some sort and a golf ball or two (in case one went down a sewer drain or got lost in the Bernice Miller Crocus Gardens) and going from our West Quad, across the parking lot thru the East Quad, then across Sheridan Road, desperately trying not to hit random passers by or automobiles. Laughter, catcalls, insults and the like filling the air. Fellow Northwestern students, with an occasional professor or administrator) bemusedly observing the absurdity of the crazy guys trying to hit "The Rock" (a Northwestern campus institution) with a Top Flite or Pinnacle found in the bottom of a golf bag pocket -- the Titleist DT's didn't do well bouncing on streets or sidewalks, so they stayed in the bag. We'd work our way down to South Beach, and try to flop sand shots up onto the lifeguard's chair (while he's not there of course). Last one to get one up there buys a round of beers from the Coke machine in the basement of the frat house -- $0.25 for a can of Old Style, listed as "Efficiency Juice" so the Coke delivery guy wouldn't rat us out for selling beer in the leased machine! I actually think that hitting pitches and chips from garden mulch, or the manicured lawn of Long Field, helped my game when I got the chance to wander off campus for a round at Chick Evans Golf Club. $12 to walk, with mats on concrete pads for tees, and the wondrous Glen View Club across Golf Road (visible thru the trees in the spring and fall, there to make us wonder what it would be like to actually play on those verdant green fairways where Willie Anderson, Bobby Jones, Gene Sarazen once teed it up).
Thanks again, Richard, for stimulating my imagination and memories about this silly game that we love.
So well said, your “mouth” to my “ears”.
Have a great trip, Richard!