HHGR Roundup

HHGR's 15th Hole. A 187-yard, par 3, known as "Tierful."

Our annual golf outing at Heritage Hills Golf Resort was a rousing success. Well, the parts that I remember were pretty cool. Allow me to explain.

Last year, me and my friends Badger, Vinnie, and Fish cleaned out the bar's Shot of the Day: Washington Apples. Together we drank a total of 26 shots before our round, and while we were feeling pretty swell, we were sober enough to still play. This year, it rained cats and dogs in the hours before our tee time, so we thought we might as well settle in for a day's worth of drinkin'.

The next thing I know, I am sharing my pints of Guinness with shots of the following:

• Yager Bombs
• Kamikazes
• Screaming Nazis (Badger said it was like taking a shot of Crest.)
  
• Washington Apples (Three of them.)
  

I was well on my way to a new liver when it happened: the rain stopped and the sun came out. Oh frak, I thought, now I have to golf! And it wasn't pretty. The only thing I remember from Sunday's round is that I only ended up playing about eight holes, kept using the wrong club - trying to hit a ball out of the rough with my driver - and spent the rest of the day passed out while Fish was Driving Miss Wyatt.

Oh, and I remember the accident.

Picture this little scenario. The course's fifth hole is a short par three with a highly-elevated tee box. The road down to the green is steep and winds around a few times before the bridge that crosses the creek. Every year, my idiot friends and I gently "push" the front cart down the slope, in hopes of a spin out. Of course, no one ever thinks that someone will get hurt.

This time, someone did: it was Fish and I. According to the accounts - I didn't see the event, thanks to the alcohol - Badger pushed us down the slope, and rammed us right before the bridge. Our cart flipped over and landed on the driver's side. Fish slammed into the pavement, and I landed on top of him. Fish's finger was a little gnarled, and I suffered a cut that ran from my right ankle to my right knee. Still hurts like hell.


Other golfers ran over and tried to put the cart upright, while still more asked if Fish and I were okay. We were, and Badger was completely apologetic. It was dumb, but we're dumb guys, so . . . Ironically, my inebriation probably saved me from serious injury. I didn't react immediately to the crash, so I didn't try and break my fall with an arm or a leg. I broke my fall with Fish's back. Thanks, Fish!

The rest of the day couldn't get any worse, so after a late dinner, I went to my room and slept like the dead.

Monday was a much better day. I woke up on time, showered, dressed, and strapped on the breakfast feedbag. When my friends came down to the restaurant, we got together, went out to our carts, and waited for the tournament director to send us out. (For the record, there were close to 144 golfers at this year's tourney, which is set up by Badger and Deathlok's brother Sean.) We kept the al-key-hol under wraps and geared up for some serious golf.

Oh, the candids you capture when your friends are tipsy.

Unfortunately, we still stink on grass. We hit balls out of bounds, into the water, and onto other fairways, but we always have fun. We're are the typical Ugly Golfers, with little to no etiquette, and even less class. Most of us have no problem with ripping someone's wife during their backswing. I mean, we're not breaking 100, anyway, so why not enjoy the game?

Monday's round was uneventful. No drunkenness, no arguments, and no accidents. Fish was well to keep us behind Badger and Vinnie's cart all day. In fact, the only problem we faced was a big problem. A big problem with scales and a long tongue.

On the 16th hole, Fish launched a shot that came down near the creek. When we came to the location of the shot, we started looking in the creek and on the surrounding rocks for the ball. As I was walking down the creek bed, I saw this under a few large rocks:

Yeah, that's a snake in the center of the photo. I apologize for the quality, but my cell phone camera isn't the best. And, I wasn't getting anywhere near this thing. I was almost on top of it when I heard a loud hissing and saw the critter curl up and look at me.

Because I am a tough, big-city police detective, I screamed like a little girl, "Guys, get back!" When my pals asked what the problem was, I hysterically calmly said, "It's a snake. A big f**king snake!" Not one to believe me, Vinnie walked to my position, looked down, and said, "Wow, that's a big f**king snake!"

"I KNOW IT'S A BIG F**KING SNAKE! I JUST SAID THAT!!!"
When we calmed down a bit, we slowly moved away from the reptile and finished the round. I shot a 118, which is basically terrible, but we had a blast.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm gonna go find the Motrin.