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Let The Club Do The Work

Let The Club Do The Work







“Try it again. Let the club do the work.” These sage words were expressed to me
after my ball sailed over the green for a second time on the same hole. “I’m trying
to let the club do the work, but my club is being and expletive!” I didn’t actually
say “expletive”, but you get the idea.

I was playing the executive course at Highland in St Paul. I was playing with my
girlfriend and her brother. It was a beautiful sunny. Perfect weather for walking a
quick nine holes.

^^^Highland National GC, St. Paul MN @ Sundown

This day, unlike most others, my driver was on like…donkey kong- I guess. I was
hitting it long and straight off of the tee. The others were impressed with my skill
with old “Big Longy” which is what I’ve taken to call my driver since that day. Big
Longy and I were the best of friends for those two hours. Every time I put him
back in my back I swear I heard him say, “I want to play some more.” “Patience, my
friend. Your time will come again soon enough. Then we will frolic hand in hand,
skipping down the green meadow and giggling like little school girls on our way to
the ice cream social in the town square like something out of a Laura Ingills Wilder
novel. It will be glorious Big Longy. Glorious.” But as much as we both wanted the
sweet embrace of each other’s touch, we knew that it would not come as soon as
we would’ve liked. For you see I still needed my pitching wedge and putter to close
out the hole for me. Or as I like to call them; Famine and Pestilence. Why do I call
them that? Read the bible you ignorant so-and-so’s and stop asking me so many

Anyway, even though my drive put me within a hundred yards on almost every hole
I still ended up with bogeys and double bogeys on my scorecard. Why? Famine and
Pestilence. We’ve been over this you guys, please try and keep up.

My wedge(Famine) and I couldn’t be more different. I like pizza, he likes pasta. I
enjoy jazz, he’s a blues man. I want to hit the green in regulation, he wants the ball
to sail over the green a couple of times before coming anywhere near it. You could
write a sitcom about us. Wait, don’t, I’m going to. Intellectual property, I called it.

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