Jeff,
Since the statute of limitations has run out, I can now tell about one very, very embarassing golf moment.
I used to play in the North-South amateur every year.
One year, on the drive down I stopped off at the University of Maryland where my friend, Billy Ziobro was a scholarship golfer.
That particular time, they had a match against Wake Forest, which always had a terrific team.
I stayed for a day or so, got to know all of the golfers on the Maryland team, some of the golfers on the Wake Forest team. and we frequented a number of parties and hangouts, such as 'The Vous" where a good time was had by all..
When I got to Pinehurst, a good number of the players from both teams were invited and competing.
Some fellows from Maryland stayed in the same boarding house that my dad had stayed in 30+ years earlier.
They mentioned, to the woman who owned the house, that they had to meet me to play a practice round the next day.
The woman recognized my last name and told them that my dad had stayed with her many years earlier.
As a result of the great time we all had in Pinehurst, the fellows from Maryland said that they'd get me invited to the Eastern Four-Ball and a few other nearby invitationals later that year.
Later, I get the invitations, accept one, get in my car and head off to the U of Maryland.
I get there a few days early so that I can play some practice rounds, party and have a great time.
One afternoon, while playing a practice round, my "hosts" tell me that there's a big party that night and that we're going to have a great time. Later that night, we all get in my car and I say, "where to ?" They direct me to a Sorority house where they pick up some of their dates, then they tell me to drive to another Sorority house to pick up "my date", which is a total surprise to me.
I say, "wait a second, I never, never go out on blind dates. To which a new found friend says, "do you trust me on reading putts for you ?" (now this guy was one of the greatest putters I had ever met. The first time we played at Pinehurst he had 6 birdies on one nine, and not one of them was inside 10 feet) So, I said, "absolutely". To which he said, "Well then, trust me on this"
Evidently, my date was the Drum Majorette or some similarly titled cheerleader. So, we drive over, I go inside, meet her, and she's very attractive with a terrific figure and a personality to match. We hit it off from the beginning despite me calling her "Thunder Thighs"
So now, we're back in my car and I say, "Where to ?" They then direct me to a liquor store where we buy vast quantities of cheap white wine. I didn't drink wine, especially white wine, in those days, confining myself to Canadian Club and Ginger Ale and/or beer.
So I buy enough wine to lubricate a small town or a thirsty group of college kids, and off to the party we go.
I drank more than I should have, I ate more than I should have, I danced more than I should have, but
We had a great time, a really really great time. Thunder Thighs was great fun and another one of the dates, "Milly" was just spectacular. I can't remember how many times I fell in love that night.
So now it's about 5:30 in the morning, I drop "Thunder Thighs" back at the Sorority house and head for the golf course for an early tee off time in the first round of the tournament. I saw Thunder Thighs on another visit, but was really infatuated by Milly and ran into her on one visit, which led to more visits.
I hit a few balls and putt a few putts, but, I'm not feeling all that well, and it's not the lack of sleep that's causing my uncomfortable feelings. Not having any breakfast didn't help and my stomach is feeling queasier and queasier. But, I tee off and my game seems to be none the worse. After a few holes, my stomach is feeling worse and worse, really bad, and I'm starting to have some terrible gas.
I know what's coming next. But, I'm in the middle of a golf course at 7:30 in the morning, far from the clubhouse and there's no restrooms in sight. I see some woods off to my left. I finish putting out and tell my fellow competitors that I have to get to those woods and that I'll join them as soon as I can.
I rush off into the woods, up a slight hill, then down a steep embankment onto some railroad tracks.
My stomach is getting worse, my gas is getting worse and I know what's about to happen.
I quickly take off my pants, underwear and golf shirt, hanging them on a nearby tree.
I'm standing there clad only in white golf shoes and it's starting to hit, the horrible cheap white wine, the horrible cheap food.
I squat as best I can, placing my feet as wide and far away from my body as possible so as not to sully my nice white golf shoes.
And then, it happens,........ simultaneously.
I say "simultaneously" because as the previous night's horrendous mixture of cheap booze and food is exiting my body, a commuter train, with horrified passengers glued to their windows, is slowly passing by.
The look on their faces is one of a combination of horror and fascination.
They can't look, but, they can't look away.
What is this lunatic, wearing only white golf shoes doing, squating and facing them while crapping, with a look of distinct pleasure on his face.
That look was one of relief, and thankfullness that this attack didn't occur only a few minute earlier when I was fully attired.
The feeling of relief was that I was feeling better and better with each major contraction..
So there I am, frozen in place, due to the nature of my body's cruel joke, expelling enormous amounts of that vile mixture.
What was I to do ? I couldn't close my eyes and pretend that they didn't see me, that I didn't exist.
I couldn't turn and run. I couldn't hide. So I did the only thing I could think of, ...... I smiled and waved at them.
And, I kept smiling and waving and contracting as car after car of horrified early moring commuters slowly passed by.
It seemed as if the train and my contractions would never end.
I could even see passengers seated on my side of the car, gesturing and calling to passengers on the other side of the aisle, summoning them to come over and see this incredibly bizarre early morning spectacle.
Anyone on that early morning commuter train who was tired or groggy woke up like a shot, like someone had snapped visual smelling salts under their nose at the sight of me, clad in only my white golf shoes, squating, crapping, smiling and waving at them as they slowly passed by.
I can laugh about it now.
Actually, I laughed about it later that night, but, I didn't have another drop of white wine for years, and I mean years to come.
But, at the time I was standing/squatting there, with only those cherished white golf shoes on my feet, looking at the horror filled faces as they passed by, I was really, really, really, really embarrassed.
But, if I had it to do all over again, I'd do it all over again, I'd just buy better wine and have a roll for breakfast.