My Cardboard Box

Adventures in Mojave Golf

with 4 comments

golfer2.jpgThe only time the course here at Marine base Camp Wadi-Near-Hell is busy is in the morning when the Retiree Legion plays, or the weekend when the young’uns look for an excuse to drive carts and drink beer.

A few years ago, the new commanding general at the time (they hang around here a year before moving on) threatened to shut the course down ‘cause it didn’t make money. G.G. du Jour forgot or wasn’t informed about Rule Number of running a base: Don’t anger the retirees. Especially the I-survived-Chosin-you-young-ignorant-bastard-so-go-ahead-and piss-me-off retired Marines.

So the course is still open, albeit a bit neglected. And most times, you practice to your heart’s content because there’s no one else around. Evening is a great time to go to the driving range. Evening is also when the ‘natives’ come out.

Pull the bag o’clubs from the Volvo of Doom. Stroll to the range. Yep – nobody around. Carry the bag to the shed. Walk out and collect all the baskets. Some poor desert tortoise might trip on one. No reason to give them another excuse to shut the place down…

Head back to the shed and deposit the baskets on the stand – right under the sign with big red letters: “PLEASE RETURN EMPTY BASKETS WHEN DONE”. Take one basket and stick it in maw of the ball-dispenser . Pull out wallet and extract the required dollar bills. Feed the bills in –

There’s a noise behind me. Turn around just in time to see a jackrabbit race across the grass in a streak of brown, across my sneakers and under the ball-dispenser.

Right behind it is a larger streak of brown, this time with wings.

The hawk is so intent on catching supper that he doesn’t pull up before he enters the shed. Nope, the nimrod flies right in like an F/A-18 making a trap, then realizes – hey, there’s no more open air!

Picture this: a terrified jackrabbit is trying to burrow through the rear corrugated steel wall. A confused hawk is flapping around and flying into everything. Dispenser, recently-placed baskets, club washer, and a certain fat guy’s bag o’clubs. And the fat guy is trying to crawl behind the ball-dispenser to join the jackrabbit.

Eventually the now-dazed raptor figures that the open space in front (it’s a three-walled shed) really is the way out and flies off. The jackrabbit is still trying to dig a hole through the wall. And the fat guy gets up, brushes the dirt off, picks up his fallen clubs, picks up the full basket from dispenser, and staggers out into the dusk to the tees. After all, why waste a bucket of balls, right?

I’d have done better throwing them into the range. Underhanded


Written by PappyBro

August 24, 2007 at 17:55

Posted in Uncategorized

4 Responses

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  1. Pappy?? a VOLVO???

    Frank G

    August 26, 2007 at 10:23

  2. We all gots our flaws…..


    August 26, 2007 at 22:03

  3. Heh, heh. The little real-country country club I usually play (Bainbridge CC) is accessible off many rural roads. I took that opportunity to bury two old buddy dawgs of mine 26 and 22 years ago. Beer-dawg is on the 4th on the left, carry the Camellia. Big-dawg is also on the left at 15. Don’t land anywhere near the dawg leg without a whistle. That’s bad jooojooo.

    Tacky courses have their own attraction, I’ma part of it. 🙂 Fall coming on, need to get my swing re-grooved for the 11teenth time and this time be more serious.


    August 30, 2007 at 13:15

  4. Shoulda clubbed the rabbit. Good after practice eets. And how aften do you get to make a raptor jealous? Thems some braggin rights.

    Mike N.

    August 31, 2007 at 11:42

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