Dick Fitswell at the St Louis Country Club
Dick Fitswell poses as a professional golfer as he hangs out in the bar after pretending to play 18 holes
by Jack Corbett

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 for your Kindle or Smart phone from Amazon.