TEPaul;
Don't go there, bro.
As Shakespeare said, "What's in a name? Would a bunker by any other name smell so sweet?"
Anyway, you asked about Huge "Puffy" Wilson, and yeah.. I know him. What about it? You aren't part of his posse, are you?
Huge and I hung together from the time we were wee kids in the projects back east in West Philly. Times were tough, but we had our fun. We had this ball-selling gig going over at Cobb's Creek by the 5th tee. In fact, we'd sell those chumps most anything if they had the green to foot it. Always hustlin', the two of us..
Looking back at it, that must have been the thing that got us into where we are today. They called that poor, beat-up course a "classic", but it sho nuff didn't look like anything too special to us. Still, as we got older, we'd grab a couple of clubs that we "found" out there, and knock it around a bit. Once in awhile, we even found some grass to hit off, which made the game so much more fun and simpler to boot!
Anyway, as we got older and into our 20s, Huge and I started to go separate ways, if you catch my drift. He was sent away for a stretch (some folks say he went overseas, but I have my doubts). While he was gone, I started my own little business and hobby of growing "stuff". It was fascinating to see how many varieties of herb..er...fescue I could come up with down by the little creek adjacent to the course.
One day Huge comes back, and I don't know if it was from the time he spent "away", or what, but all of a sudden, he's acting really whack. He's got this golf thing really bad, and he's rapping about reduns and elps and all kinda sh*t.
He's spending his days going around the Cobbs course asking people to hold bed sheets so he can see how they look from a distance. Looked like white folk holdin' sheets to me.
Then, he tells me that he can get us good paying jobs, working on a construction crew building golf courses. He says they're this new-fangled thing being built all over, some sort of Country Club for a day deal. I had my doubts, but Huge was right.
The two of us took to it real fast, especially driving around those heavy equipment deals. Especially building those bunkers. We'd get in those tractors and just have at it. Because we didn't get to see much real grass where we came from, we'd have these sort of contests between ourselves to see who could build the biggest, fattest, plumpest bunker surrounds with the thickest sod facings we could find.
In no time at all, we became very appreciative, experts really, in the school of modern golf architecture. The other cats on the crew took to calling both of us puffy, because most of the cool-looking bunkers we created had more hair on end than a scared cat.
Now, let's keep this between us, but somewhere in the midst of everything, a deal went bad and Huge and I had a falling out of sorts. I had to skip to the west coast, and last I hear he's still looking for me.
And yeah, we both cut record deals with different producers, and yeah, we still get out on the tractors now and again to build us some bunkers, the puffier the better.
But, I'm afraid our story's not going to have a happy ending. You see, we each have our own posses these days, and the blood is bad between us. So, if you see two construction crews out there gang-bangin' in the middle of your course some day, you can probably bet that this east coast/west coast thing...despite our remarkable similarities and love of modern design, has Gorge Thomas and Huge Wilson in the middle of it.