Day XXXIX of the All The Things That White People Like To Do Road Trip of Golf Courses in Deserts
For being pissed-off liberals, we sure find ourselves doing a lot of things that upper middle-class white people do whilst wearing pleated pants; we took a day trip to Tessa’s dad’s ranch/golf course combo, an 18-hole paradise that some say is one of the hardest in the land. We’d come to find some of Tessa’s things that had been squirreled away in the upper floors of the pro shop after her father died, but it turned out to be only a couple of dubiously artistic renderings of Kenya and a musty love seat.
Undeterred, I found the big-screen TV and cranked it up to watch my beloved Tar Heels get their ass handed to them by Georgia Tech. Thankfully, we had the whole golf course and cabin to ourselves, or else my profanity-laced cries of anguish would have been unappreciated by those living in these parts. We let off a little steam by thwacking golf balls into the 2100 acres of forest woodland. My hair kept me from seeing much of my progress.
I golf like I ski like I play basketball flashes of brilliance with the occasional move so ridiculously awful that I think truly the Gods must be fucking with me. Of course, it’s hard to do anything well when the goddamn dog has a psychic break every time you swing the club. Chopes would not shut up the entire time I was practicing, eventually forcing Tessa to cart him away like a mental patient.
time for your medication, Mr. Border Collie
This golf course was meant to be Blakey’s crowning achievement, and now it may be the one thing (besides his descendants) to truly outlive him. Those woods are lovely, dark and deep right now, but it is only a matter of time before Houston hemorrhages in this direction, and transforms this lonely patch of undulating bluegrass into a sea of golfers testing their wits against the ghost of wily Thomas Blake.