/ Front Nine

Stop me if you've heard this one before, but my wife walks up to the (kitchen) bar and says to me, "BOY IS MY BOSS TIRED. IT WAS SO HEAVY HE COULDN'T GET IT UP." And it could be true, for all I care, even were she not referring to his weekend pulling crab traps, because some days I AM ALSO SO HEAVY I FEEL LIKE I CAN'T GET IT UP, NEITHER, even if I'm referring to the will to live, but OH MY GOD I think some days I wish I could be small enough to nestle deep inside the pewter walls of my golf trophy, along with my hopes and desires. It's not an urn. IT'S A YEARN.

But some days, I feel like I WANT to be everywhere and everything at once, obnoxious and inappropriate, very much like a human crab trap myself, except replace TRAP with ATTRACTION. Oh, and replace CRAB with STAR. Change HUMAN to SUPER, I suppose.

These days OF WHICH I SPEAK typically coincide with the Ides of July, the SAINT IDES of lore, when I pick up my balls and bag, head out to the forest and plant my flag in every hole that mother nature lays in my path. I call this tableau STILL LIFE, WITH GOLF (LIQUOR, TOMATO JUICE).

I won't say much about the actual competition, other than I looked really hot, what good it did me among 140 other men, and squealed like a Thai hooker when I bagged my first natural bird on #12. Seriously, I PRACTICALLY COMMITTED MALE FRAUD.

I might also add that this might be the only golf tournament in the world that comes with free massages, but after I dropped my pants I found out that massage has apparently matured as a profession since the days when I was in college and looked both ways MANY MANY TIMES before crossing the street to the parlor. The tenseness in my arms and shoulders made the final victory all the more sweeter, all the more appreciated and all the more legal.

Yes, that's right. I defended the honor of my school colors (ECRU and NUDE) and restored the trophy to its rightful, exalted place atop the mini-fridge in the staff break room.

What's that joke? If golf were my craft, it would be TITANIC.

As it stands, writing is my craft, and it is a sinking ship.