Whoa boy, now I know why I don't do walk-ons at busy courses anymore! As fate would have it, I was the lucky fourth just the other day for 18 holes with the following threesome.

    Our first player in our group was Mister Smooooth. This guy walked slowly from cart to ball at every shot, most often with only one club. It was the norm for him to have the wrong one. He stopped at the top of his backswing, took exactly 15 (yes, I said “15”) practice swings on every shot and asked for yardage any time he was inside 450 yards. He insisted on pacing off every pitch and putt with long slooooow steps. Good thing he never generated much swing-speed, because he shanked pretty much anything that wasn't a putt.

    Next was Mister “I haven't played in 50 years but I was a scratch player back then”. He was the corporate logo guy, a walking, talking billboard for Callaway. He made par on every hole despite utilizing as many as three mulligans per hole. This guy is living proof that it’s better to look marvelous, than to play marvelous. He also did the PGA Tour pro walk around every putt outside of eight inches and never stopped giving swing advice to Mister Smooooth. The usual conversation consisted of, “slow it down”.

    The final member of my group from Hades was Mister “Pitching wedge from 175, because I am Looooong baby!” Need I say more? He also insisted on talking the entire time. Before, during and after any swing by any one of us. Usually he wanted to know what club each of us hit so that he could then hit three to five clubs less from the same distance in a fruitless effort to get to the green. The man drove me nuts!

    We seemed to hold up every group in sight as these clowns wouldn't wave anyone through because Mister Loooong didn't want to risk hitting any of the groups ahead of us as he waited for the green to clear on every par-four under 397 yards. It’s hard to believe that we nearly ran out of daylight after starting our round first thing in the morning.

    How did I play? Well I managed a comfortable nine-over-par round and at the end Mister “Scratch from 50 years ago” asked me if I had broken 90. When I replied that I had shot a tidy little 81, he looked at me funny and said “counting mulligans?” I’m sure he had no idea how to add anything, much less mulligans.

    The only saving grace for me was the knowledge that I could count on my readers and friends to allow me to vent. Thank you, I feel much better now.