Dick Fitswell poses as a professional golfer as he hangs out in the bar after pretending to play 18 holes
|It was that fake id that got me into the St Louis Country Club, the ID
belonging to a guy I had just met named Elixir McDonald. I had beaten him
in a game of pool and since he had run out of money he lent me his id if
I promised to return it. Borrowing a set of clubs from my neighbor I headed
out onto the golf course not having the slightest idea of how to play.
The course was 18 holes and I sure as hell wasn't there to play golf. I
was there to pick up a high society woman. Elixir must have been a guy
like me since they let me right onto the course when I produced his membership
card. Sure as hell didn't play much golf, I thought, since they didn't
seem to know that I wasn't Elixir.
I saw a bunch of guys teeing off at the first hole and watched what they were doing. Until now I thought a club was something you used to beat someone's brains in when you felt like picking a fight. After watching a few golfers tee off I knew what I had to do. I waited my turn, teed off, then went out to pick up my ball fifty feet away. It was not a good shot but I couldn't care less. I had more important things on my mind. I kept an eye out to make sure no one was watching and carried my ball to the 18th hole. There I waited for the foursome ahead of me to finish, then put my ball six inches from the hole and putted it in------to be continued in the book which you can buy in paperback or two e reader formats from Amazon and lulu.com
Copyrighted June 1, 1999 by Jack Corbett