Abe

LSJohn

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monett missouri
I once commented here that I played a lot of games in the top 1 or 2%. I should have said top 2%, and noted that most of the people who gamble at them are the ones in the top 1%. :eek:

But there was one thing at which I was in the top 1%...no, top .1%... no, top .001%... throwing a golf ball for distance. No one ever beat me, but of course I assumed a lot of Big-Leaguers and quarterbacks could.

Unfortunately, either I didn't know how to set it up or it's just something that's hard to get a bet on for any kind of serious money. I only remember making money on it 3 times -- I just remembered the third one while writing this.

The serious money I made throwing over a bowling alley in Wichita, but that's not this story.

I played golf at Wolf Creek, a near-tour-caliber 7201 yd course in Olathe, Ks, a suburb of KCMo. Wolf Creek would bring to their knees players who had played mostly on far lesser courses and looked at their average scores there as a representation of their skills. Besides being longer than most were used to, it was tricky and the greens were large and lightning fast. There were a few possible pin placements that would make missing the green better than hitting the wrong half of it. One of these spots was known as "chickenshit ridge."

My golfing buddy Jerry and I were in Pumpernick's Deli in Leawood, Ks. having lunch, and as we always did, were discussing golf. We were overheard by the owner and he approached to strike up a golf conversation. He was apparently as addicted as we were.

He finally got a cup of coffee and sat down with us. One of us eventually brought up the subject of gambling on golf, and he was interested. (I can't remember his name, so I'll call him Marty.) He was also very interested in playing Wolf Creek, and he wanted to bring his father-in-law. He invited Jerry and me to join him and his father-in-law at their club, Meadowbrook in Prairie Village, a next door suburb. (This was the club Hank Stram beat out of thousands on unpaid tab when he left the Chiefs, and KC.)

We maneuvered to get them to Wolf Creek first. We figured beating them there would give them an excuse to believe it was the course that caused their loss, and they'd play us again at their place.

They did come to Wolf Creek first, and we barbecued them badly -- I was afraid it was too badly -- but I don't remember the amount...several hundred each.

Two things happened -- one on the 14th, one on the 18th, that caused remarks by Abe, Marty's father-in-law, (and by coincidence the father of a guy with whom I played poker occasionally) that Jerry and I have quoted to each other a 100 times in the years since.

On the 14th, a long par 5 with two intimidating water hazards, the four of us were all over the lot after our second shots. I yelled to Jerry, "Did you hit yet?" but it came out "Djou hit yet?"

Abe yelled back, "No, but that's a helluva thing to say." I looked at Jerry, clear across the fairway, and he looked at me. We couldn't keep a straight face.

On the 18th tee, Abe and Marty were buried but they hadn't given up. There was one more press. The tee shot went through a tunnel of trees, not particularly narrow, that was heavy rough for about the first 125 yards. Abe clipped a tree branch and his ball barely failed to clear the rough. We pulled our cart up parallel with theirs, but a dozen yards away. It's relevant now to point out that we had been playing the ball "down" all day.

Abe took one look at his ball and said, "Oh, no, f**k you, I'm in a hole." He immediately picked it up and dropped it. Again Jerry and I couldn't keep a straight face, so I just turned the cart 90 degrees away from them and took off. We knew Abe had no chance to par the hole from there anyway, and we sure didn't want to piss these guys off by calling a rule violation. I don't even remember the outcome of that 18th hole, but we must have won it.

The real subject of this story finally showed up when it was arranged for us to visit their club about a week later. Abe was a short, straight hitter and very good with wedge and putter. Marty was longer, hit decent irons, but was terrible around the greens, chipping and putting. Their course from the tees they wanted to play was over 400 yards shorter than Wolf Creek, and that made it a much better gamble for them, beyond the home field advantage. We still managed to get a little bit ahead by about the 6th or 7th hole, which was a very short par 3 with water covering the entire distance from tee to green.

Somebody made a comment about how short it was, and Abe said, "Farther than you think."

I quickly double-checked the distance and said, "Hell, I could throw a ball on that green."

Abe says, "No way. You wanna bet?"

I said, "It's only 75 yards, Abe." (I estimated that it was only 95 to the front edge.)

Abe said, "Bet a hundred."

I looked and looked, walked to the left, walked to the right, and said, "Bet two."

Abe said, "Bet three."

I said, 'Bet four," and Abe said, "Bet."

My longest measured throw was 111 yards, so I was gonna raise it as long as Abe would go for it. When I threw, I was too chickenshit to take a chance and I let it fly 100%. Abe cursed like a sailor, mumbling several "nobodys" mixed in. Finally he said, "John, I guess you've just got my number."

We won again that day, but not much. Abe and Mose were very gracious when they paid off for what I feared, correctly it turned out, was for the last time.

============

You may think I'm making too light about the "Djou hit yet," and maybe I am, but I used it so many times in pool and golf with two friendly adversaries of mine that maybe it came to feel more OK than it really is.

In that context, I've got another.

Another of my friendly pool adversaries, maybe even closer to "friend," is named T.C. He's blacker than midnight. One day I walked into the pool hall and T.C was hitting balls as usual. He looked up, in response to a conversation that was obviously going on before I came in, and said: "What would you do if you're camping out in the woods by yourself and you see through the trees a bunch of guys in white robe carrying torches?"

I said, "Daddy!"

One more: When T. C. was practicing, if the cue ball ended up somewhere away from him, he'd use the next ball closest to him as the CB on his next shot. One day several of us were standing bullshitting while T.C hit balls, and it came up that the next ball closest to him was the 8. He used the 8 as CB for three or four shots, and finally I couldn't stand it any longer. I said, "See what T.C.'s doin'? He claims he's had trouble with Whitey his whole life."

In other words, racial and ethnic origins don't mean shit to me, so maybe I make too light of it at times.

Is this where I'm supposed to say "I have friends...." :lol
 
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