I want to thank my good friends and fellow committee members Dr. Pugh and Mr. Murphy for stepping in to help me out.  Dave obviously put a lot of time and thought into his article and I found his statistical analysis quite compelling.  The sad thing about Don’s article is that he apparently put every bit as much time and thought into it as Davey but because I’m sincerely grateful for the help I’ve decided to leave most of it alone.  Just so we’re clear, however;  Mr. Murphy neglected to tell you that he received two shots per hole during our "match" and he neglected to tell me that he obviously has trouble with things like "words".  For that, I’m sorry.

     The final week of the season inspired more than a few guys to take it pretty deep.  Mr. Mike White concluded his very successful 2009 Men’s Night season by shooting his best gross (43) and net (29) scores of the year.  His unbelievably low net was largely responsible for his Team # 7 moving into 3rd place in the overall standings.  When I saw Mike’s score and heard the much deserved name-calling that accompanied it I couldn’t help but think of a variation on a reliable old adage about lawyers, of which Mike is one… 99% of sandbaggers give the rest of them a bad name.  Well played, sir.

     Several Bastards tried their best to be recognized as Most Useless this week though none were more or, should I say, less successful than Mr. John Birka and Mr. Mike Feijo.  Mike is just new to the club this year but it appears he’s a fast learner.  I wrote a few years ago that I can always tell who played well and who didn’t when I see who is still hanging around the lounge at 9:00 p.m.  I didn’t think Andy (T1 low gross – 2nd low net) was ever going to leave last night yet Feijo, Birka and their fellow Most Useless Bastards (Brad Robertson, Bud MacKillop, Todd Stanbridge) all took off like Murphy from a fair fight.

     Congratulations to Mr. Bill Howden’s Team # 2 for being the Men’s Night Champions for 2009.  Each member of Team # 2 will receive a $100 Pro Shop credit, a coveted invitation to this year’s Champions Dinner which is one of the most enjoyable, belt-loosening experiences imaginable and their names will be posted in perpetuity on the Men’s Night Wall of Fame.  Bill’s Boys - John Alpaugh, John Birka, Gene Carrafiello, Mike Deston, John Huigenbous, Wayne Kensit, Jim Kivenen, Brian Knott, Darryl Lawrie, Richer McConkey, Tony Modesti, Grant Nelson, Doug Pollock, Don Pritlove, Brad Sinclair and Jim Wilhelm were either at or near the top of the standings all year long and they finished 1st both weeks in the playoffs.  That makes a 2nd and a 1st for Bill Howden as a Captain which means he’ll be gunning for Mr. Murphy’s record in 2010.  Pretty damn good.

     It would be impossible to run a program of this size without help from our sponsors.  On behalf of all the B. G. & C. C. Men’s Night participants I want to extend a very hearty thank you to Mr. Darren MacVicar and Mr. Todd Belliveau of Labatt’s for their extremely generous offer to underwrite some of our most popular Men’s Night programs.  Labatt’s funded a portion of both our Men’s Night Opening and Closing, paid for the four R9 Drivers we gave away during the season and, of course, are entirely responsible for our yearly Labatt’s Road Trip to Osprey Valley.  In return they asked for and received absolutely nothing.  Not a bad deal from our perspective.  I hope you’ll remember to say, "Give me a Bud Light" the next time you’re at the club.

     Our list of supporters continues to grow each year and it is, once again, my great pleasure to draw your attention to the people who give so willingly of their time, resources and expertise in order to enhance our golf experience.  The following members sponsored a specific hole or accomplishment this season - Michael Hurley, Dan Gasbarrini, Gregg Moore, Graham Young, John Kocsis, Nick Rizzo, Brent Gordon, Gene Carrafiello, Don Pritlove, Greg Forrest, Todd Stanbridge, Bob Caissie and Bruce Rogerson.  I encourage everyone to make a point of saying thank you the next time you see them at the club.  They most certainly deserve it.

     Our title sponsor for 2009 was, once again, Mr. Lee Munro, who continues to go so far above and beyond the call of duty that I’m running out of nice things to say about him.  Lee provides the Committee with a slush fund to help get each year started and he’s offered a nice little perk for every player who attends the Swatfest.  Also, along with Labatt’s, Lee has arranged for a couple of Swatfest Closest-to-the-Pin prizes that will blow you away.  It's members such as Lee who, along with the aforementioned gentlemen, keep me and my fellow committee members, John Alpaugh, Reg Madison, Don Murphy and Dave Pugh motivated each week and make us all proud to be members of the Brantford Golf and Country Club.  Thank you to everyone who takes the time to get involved. Believe me; we all know you give far more than you receive.

                                                               So Pat... Is That, You Know... It?

     Not quite.  This will be my last entry for a while and since I’ve received quite a few requests for my annual spring golf trip article I figured this was a pretty good way to end things for 2009.  I never did get around to producing one last year.  The problem is that sometimes nothing happens; last year I poked around Scottsdale and this year I spent two weeks in and around Myrtle Beach but other than a good honest forest fire that prevented us from visiting Barefoot Landing it was fairly uneventful; some good golf, good weather and good company.  Charles Dickens would have trouble with that as his outline and heaven knows when matching our literary skills Charlie could give me three a side and still close me out before getting over the road.  Anyway, I was determined to give you something to ponder over the winter so here it is. I spent a great deal of time on this one so I hope you like it.

                                                                             Cedar Crest

     Beyond a shadow of a doubt the strangest golf-related experience I ever remember took place at the Cedar Crest Country Club, an old municipal golf course located in one of the poorest sections of Dallas, Texas.  The original layout was designed by A.W. Tilinghast and at one time was considered among the finest tests of golf in the state.  Shortly after it opened some local writers hailed the par-4 10th as the ‘greatest hole in golf’ and for years players referred to the stretch of holes # 8 through # 10 as "Hail Mary Corner".  Legend has it that Herbert Warren Wind, the gentleman credited with coining the phrase "Amen Corner" at Augusta National actually lifted the idea from Cedar Crest.  The PGA of America thought enough of Cedar Crest, which in its heyday was referred to as "the most beautiful place on earth" to award it the 1927 PGA where the world’s best went toe to toe before the inimitable Sir Walter Hagen bested Joe Turnesa to win his 4th straight PGA Championship.  Despite this impressive pedigree Cedar Crest gradually fell out of favour with the Dallas golf crowd prompting some serious discussion about plowing it under for development.  The city stepped up and purchased the property with the intention of providing an affordable golf course for the locals and that led to a major renovation in 2005 that was overseen by PGA Tour Professional, Mr. D. A. Weibring.  I received an Email in the spring of 2006 announcing that Cedar Crest, now completely restored, was looking for some guys like me to come over and offer an opinion on the finished product.  Since I was already in the area I figured, what the hell… why not head downtown, hang out with some of my peeps and experience the grand old game alongside those who know how to keep things real.  Just to be safe I decided to bring my spouse along for backup though I neglected to tell her about the story behind the course.  Cheryl, for those of you who don’t know, didn’t take up the game until relatively late in her life so her experience with "public" golf had thus far been limited to Pebble Beach, Spyglass, Harbour Town and the Ocean Course at Kiawah.  Now, please don’t misunderstand, Cheryl is no golf snob, but she hasn’t really seen the game at the grassroots level.  Her idea of a golf-related hardship is last year’s Pro V1’s on the driving range so, as you might imagine, I was mildly concerned that she might view a place like Cedar Crest as a bit of an unplayable lie, if you know what I mean.

     As we pulled into the parking lot you got the sense that golf - and life for that matter - at a place like Cedar Crest is, well, different.  Jungle Law is the order of the day in this part of the world and I’m almost positive their method of dealing with players who ignore things like ball marks, bunkers and pace of play involve a shiv and a baseball bat rather than a softly worded letter.  The clubhouse was covered in graffiti, several of the carts were literally up on blocks and the two picnic tables that serviced the halfway hut were standing on end. It looked like a gang war had broken out between the nines.  Cheryl was noticeably uncomfortable as we entered the Golf Shop so I suggested she wait over by the 1st tee while I checked us in.  Her biggest concern, by the way, was not for our well being but whether or not the club would cite her for a dress code violation.  My girl had brazenly gone with an ankle high sock rather than the far more acceptable "ped" style sockette and she’d been fretting about it since we left the hotel.  Now, I know what you’re thinking…  Pat, you had best be watching your woman!  She sounds like a scamp!  Yes, she can be, but based on the number of expletives spray-painted on the clubhouse wall and the, "No Shoes, No Shirt, No Problem", sign that was affixed to the Pro Shop door I was fairly certain her shocking display of civil disobedience wouldn’t be an issue.

     The real story at Cedar Crest, however, is their Head Golf Professional; Mr. Chester Whittle. Mr. Whittle is, without question, the oddest golf professional I have ever met.  His welcome included the offer of a drink – it was just after 9:30 a.m.; and a formal introduction to his 91 year old father Jake and his dog, Mr. Gimple.

     Chester was one of those guys who made you feel uncomfortable in his presence. He had a strange yet surprisingly effective golf swing that started with a noticeable grunt and finished with a stiff-legged follow through that made me think his underwear were damp.  The poor man was obviously several holes down in his life-long match with the bottle and from the looks of things he’d been having a bad hair day since about 1975.  Though not a particularly large fellow he did sport an extraordinarily large gut which made the dark green shirt he was wearing look not unlike a hefty bag filled with vegetable soup.  The other two, Jake and Mr. Gimple, were also an interesting pair though, truth be told, it was Chester’s dad Jake who would probably have benefited more from having his coat brushed and his teeth cleaned but when I heard the three of them planned to act as our hosts for the day… well, I couldn’t have been happier.  I just knew we were in for an entertaining afternoon.

     We made our way to the 1st tee where it wasn’t long before my new buddy solidified his place in my all time Weirdo-Hall-of-Fame.  Just prior to taking the tee, Chester made his way over to the nearby portable toilets.  The only explanation I have for what happened next is that he was concerned his possibly late arrival on the tee might result in an inexcusable breach of etiquette thus sullying his otherwise good name because, rather than waiting for his turn in the water closet; he calmly stood beside a rather small but very life-like statuette and urinated in the poor things pocket. I’m not sure what else there is to say about that.  The image is indelibly etched in my mind.

     Now that we were all suitably relieved, the five of us (Cheryl, Chester, his dad, Mr. Gimple and me) hit course.  We moved along quite nicely until we reached the 8th tee.  Just as we were getting ready to hit I noticed the two guys in front of us acting strangely – relatively speaking of course.  They were obviously searching for something and had now turned back towards the tee.  When they finally reached us they asked, without a hint of embarrassment, if we had seen a MacGregor golf bag.  Quite honestly, I didn’t understand the question but Chester, his dad and even Mr. Gimple seemed to catch on immediately - the two gentlemen had lost one of their golf bags.  Apparently they hadn’t noticed that it had fallen off the cart so they were now backtracking to see if they could find it. I stood there looking, I’m sure, dumbfounded wondering how they could have played their tee shots on # 8 without realizing they were one sack short but they just said thanks and continued back towards the 7th hole.  We beat on, boats against the current.

     We managed to play a few more holes without incident until we reached the 13th, a fairly brawny par-4 that turns hard left at the 260 yard mark.  This hole, like almost every hole at Cedar Crest, is bordered by houses that run the entire length of the fairway.  According to Chester, the better players take a very aggressive line that requires you to fly your drive over the house that sits on the corner.  With that out of the way, my hero promptly stepped up and hit four consecutive balls off the roof of the same house while trying to cut the dogleg - each one resonating like a gunshot.  When he nailed the house with the fifth ball, the homeowner emerged, frantically waving a bright white towel in surrender.  It was one of the funniest things I have ever seen but neither Chester nor his father was phased in the least.  He picked up his tee, calmly told me he would just drop what would now be his 11th up near the corner and hopped in his cart.  He missed the green with his approach, stubbed a chip and finally holed out for a 16, carefully executing his entire pre-shot routine before every stroke.  I’m sure the PGA of America would be proud of his commitment to the craft.

     By the time we reached the closing hole I was honestly thinking two things; Cheryl had almost assuredly beaten the rap with regard to her glaring sock indiscretion and I should have been writing all this stuff down.  Chester’s dad decided to lead us off on # 18.  He took a pretty good cut but came at it far too steeply so his ball went almost straight up in the air.  It landed about 10 yards in front of us and rolled down the hill into a small creek that runs near the tee.  Like most of the older guys I know, he’d sooner abandon a Kidney than a golf ball, so he and Mr. Gimple scrambled down to see if they could fish the thing from the water.  He found the ball, stood up and then immediately hit the deck when Chester, who was actually playing out of turn, let one rip right past his dad’s bony head.  It would have been perfect if Chester’s dad reached for a white towel but he didn’t seem bothered in the least.  Jake literally crawled back up the hill, waited his turn and then blasted away.  No apology, no comment, not even a nod from his son who had almost decapitated the poor bastard.  No harm, no foul I guess.

     We finished the round, shook hands and then grabbed a seat at one of the picnic tables that was now sitting upright near the back of the clubhouse.  As we waited for our drinks Chester gave a little speech that I’m sure he saves for out-of-towners like me.  He started out by giving me the usual stuff but then got off on a tangent regarding the problems that plague modern courses and why guys like me have no business offering an opinion about golf course architecture.  Just to be clear, I hadn’t told him anything about… well, anything but it was obvious good old Chester didn’t like my kind.     

     "Today’s courses ain’t natural, Chester said.  Not like Cedar Crest which looks like it’s been here forever.  Tell me, he asked; what’s yer favourite opener in Galf?

     "Well, I said, it’s tough to narrow it down to just one but if I have to, I kind of like the 1st up at Oak Hill in Rochester."

     "Wrong, he said.  You played the best opener in the game today.  I’ve said for years that our 1st hole has to be seen to be believed."

     Well, my friends, the 1st hole at Cedar Crest is so blind that I figured the man who designed it was as well.  I was just about to tell Chester that I would have to withhold my opinion due to the fact that I couldn’t see nor believe anything from where we were sitting – directly behind the 1st tee - when he proudly announced that, "God intended for this place to be used as a golf course. "  Ah yes, the old, "God intended… " statement.  This one always gets my attention.  Well, I have no idea whether or not God’s design team consulted on the job or not but I can tell you this with absolute certainty; if the Almighty was involved with the project at Cedar Crest, He either really needed the dough or He played the balance of His junior golf on the Martin over at Chedoke because in my opinion, the course stinks.

Thanks for everything,

Pat