By Alex Akins ’18

Freight Train is an ongoing series by Mr. Akins.  You can read the previous addition here:

DISCLAIMER: H and I never played as depicted in a round that was “counted.”  We only play ‘friendly’ rounds.

H and I started playing golf in the summer going into 8th grade, and ever since then we’ve been better friends than Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan.

A typical round of golf for H and I consists of many rule violations, calling out rule violations, gambling, rescinding our bets, threatening quitting, actually quitting, playing 80’s music a little too loudly, “miscounting” our strokes, hollow compliments and screaming at each other’s backswings.

Unfortunately those tactics did not translate well to the high school stage, as we got cut our first year and captained the “C-Squad (2-0 the dream)”.

The summer going into sophomore year H and I played a lot more, hoping to avoid playing with his younger brother and other freshmen on the C-Squad once again.

A typical practice match during last summer went down like the following scenario . . .  The night before I schedule a tee-time.  That morning, H and I show up to the course twenty minutes before our tee-time to warm up. I walk up to the practice range and hear H’s temper tantrums and 80’s music. When I get up there, I scuff five shots, get mad, then storm down to the first tee while H is trying to talk trash behind me. Most of his “brain games, consisted of a horrific southern accent, lines stolen from ‘Caddyshack’ and ‘Happy Gilmore’, and then lying about how far he was hitting drives before I showed up.

When we arrived at the first tee H would make me tee off first. After I scuffed my shot barely passed the lip of the fairway, H would try to mock me then step up to the tee box. His shot would go about 180 yards and just inbounds.  He would follow it up by saying: “What a beaut, I’m about to birdie this here hole.” H would go onto 5-putt and claim he shot a bogey. The first hole is a par 4. After I would call him out on his “bogey,” H would pull some explanation right out of the air, claiming that I only saw practice shots.

The ensuing holes would go on similarly until we would start playing “a buck a hole”. This is where the beef went from something you would find at Korea House straight to USDA-approved AAA beef. The cheating would be unheard of. H would always miraculously “save par” while I would be able to “find” any ball that went into the woods. Every hole would end in an argument, not about whether we cheated but about how much we cheated. The arguments would go on for minutes and hold up other golfers. We were just two pathetic guys arguing over two dollars.

We were just two pathetic guys arguing over two dollars.

The gambling would stop after one of us would check our wallets mid-round and “notice” that we had no money on us.

After nine holes we would leave the beef outside and go get something to eat at the Halfway House. Instead of drinking water and eating something light, H and I would have hot dogs and cokes. This strategy never worked, but we tried it many times. We would start to feel the cramping and dehydration at hole 12; it was no longer about the money or the rivalry it was about survival. Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through the fairway.

Our only goal was to make it through the full round at this point. We would leave balls behind, kick our ball up a couple (30) yards, and skip puts. At 18, H would announce his drive: “Augusta National, H is behind one blow, but with a birdie he can send it into a playoff… H steps up to the drive… backs off… steps up again . . . (H would go onto scuff the drive and then go through the entire process again until he hit a decent drive) H crushes it! He will surely send this into a playoff!” H would announce the entire hole until I would threaten to walk off.

After every round, we would quench our dehydration with more salty snacks and beverages.

Surprisingly, H and I made C-Squad for the second time in a row. After reviewing our work ethic, and determination for golf, I still can’t see where we went wrong. H and I will look to improve our stellar golf game over this summer and hope to make the cut.