1 Happy St

I told you about it last year. I told you about it the year before. So I have to tell you again this year, right? Saturday was my annual Father's Day golf outing.

A little background in case you forgot. I've always been awful at golf. I've been so bad in the past that most of the time I wouldn't even keep score; I would just ride around in the cart drinking beer while occasionally getting out to hit the ball. I've made no secret of this. But admittedly, I've been getting better. I have newer clubs [and they're good one's], new shoes, and hats for my bats to keep bats warm [gracias]. And the last few times out, I've done okay*.

*Granted, okay for you might be in the 90's. Okay for me is 120.

I didn't do okay this time though. Far from it in fact. This year I went up against 59 other people. The golf course was pretty badass. Each cart had a computerized flatscreen television that allowed us to enter in our score after each hole. If you were in a large group [which we were], you could keep track of everyone else. A leaderboard if you will. Pretty cool, right? Well yeah, if you're good. But who wants electronic proof being broadcast to everyone on the course of how badly they suck? Because that was me. After each hole, I had to enter my 7 or 8 [or 10] into the computer, and then it would tell me how many shots over par I was, as well as my current standing amongst the 60 players. Needless to say, I was never better than 59th and I ended up in 60th with a 133. I don't know why I tell you these things 'cause that's a bloody embarrassment. But oh well. I'm not shy.

My brother-in-law Tommy finished in 59th with a 132. Do you believe that? 1 friggin stroke. Although I think I have to call shenanigans because I saw him take a 9 on the 16th hole and I could have sworn he got a 10.

That liar.