As we continue to rehabilitate the basement from water damage incurred during August's Hurricane, I am finding interesting items long forgotten and stored in remote regions of the basement. With each item, there is usually some memory attached that brings a smile.
The other day, in the back of the storage room in the basement, I came across Landi's golf clubs. When we were dating, we used to play frequently, but we haven't played for years. Her clubs were in the corner of the storage room and I checked the bag for water damage. As I inspected the bag, on the shoulder strap, a smear of mud caught my eye, and I remembered the last time we played golf.
In the Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania, there is a wonderful Country Club called Saucon Valley. It is a beautiful, high end country club that, were Landi not associated at the time with Bethlehem Steel, we would never had had occasion to visit or play. However, through a Bethlehem Steel event of some sort, we found our selves at this incredible golf course.
Landi was beautiful that day. She was wearing white shorts and a blue knit top of some sort. She had a white visor, and white golf shoes. Her golf bad was white, as was her golf glove. She had her hair in a pony tail, and a late summer tan. I wore dockers and a polo shirt.
Saucon Valley's course is one of those courses where the fairways are better than a lot of greens that I grew up playing on. We played our round with another two-some associated with Bethlehem Steel. They were much better golfers than us, but we were better looking.
The 18th hole, was a long, down hill dog leg par four, with a small stream crossing at the bottom of the valley. Both of the other golfers in our foursome drove over the stream and into perfect position. I bearly cleared the stream, and Landi came up short. I drove her to her ball, and she asked me to go ahead and find my ball, that she would walk to me. I drove the cart to the little bridge over the stream and began looking for my ball.
Landi swung, and her ball flew towards the green. I still can't find my ball. I saw the other two golfers waiting, so I told them to go ahead and hit. I had lost a couple of balls already, and I didn't think I had another with me. So I kept looking for it, and I looked up just in time to see Landi kind of hop over the stream. It was a short hop. An easy hop, really. Actually, it was more of a long stride with just a little extra umph at the end, and she very gracefully cleared the stream without any distress at all.
The ground on the side she what coming from was firm, solid and dry. The other side of the stream was not. It was utterly saturated. Her lead foot landed on the soft green grass on the other side, and she sank up to her knee in muck. Her trailing leg completed the stride across the stream, and had no place to go but also knee deep into the muck. At this point, only her golf shoes were muddy.
I viewed this from a short distance away, and immediately came to her assistance. I remembered the old Tarzan movies where one guy stuck in quick sand quickly drags another to his doom too when he is pulled into the quick sand. No way, I thought, I was getting into the mud.
All thing considered, at this point, Landi was doing well. She was stuck in the mud yes, but she was calm. I grabbed a golf club to use to help pull her out. By having her grab the golf club, and using it to pull her out, I hoped to be able to stay on solid ground, and avoid the mud. She took hold of the club and I started pulling, but the mud on her hands caused her lose her grip. Because she was pulling so hard, when the club slipped out of her hands, she flopped backwards and sat down in the mud. When the club slipped from her hands, I was straining, pulling the club trying to lift her out. Suddenly losing that resistance, my hands, clutching the head of the 3 iron, crashed into my nose, which began bleeding profusely.
I ventured closer, and extended my hand to her, and again we pulled and strained, and the grass beneath my feet gave way, and suddenly, I was flat on my back in the mud. Landi's calm was wearing thin. I got up, and I grabbed her under the arms, and using brute strength, tried to lift her out of the mud, and again, my feet slipped in the mud and I went down. I sat down in front of her, and reached out to her, and tried again. Her leg was slowly coming free, and suddenly she shouts, STOP!
What's wrong? “I'm losing my shoe!!” Screw the shoe. I'll get the shoe in a minute. We kept pulling and straining and after a great sucking/slerping sound, her foot came free, and we rolled into the more firm grass. We were tired, exhausted really. Finally, after catching our breath, I started to head to the golf cart.
'My shoe?”, Landi reminded me.
I walked back over to the mud pit we had created. It was a hell of a mess. The groundkeeper was going to wonder what the hell happened here. I found the hole. I got on my knees, and stuck my arm down until I felt the golf shoe. I pulled it out of the muddy water, held it aloft, and watched as what looked like Hershey's Syrup poured from it. I looked over at Landi, and she looked like she had been dipped in Hershey's Syrup. I had to smile.
The other two players in our foursome had finished the hole, and were sitting on the patio at the Club House when we arrived. When they last saw us, we looked like we could have been in a photo shoot for a golf magazine, but that had changed. Both of us were covered from head to toe in a dark brown mud, and were coated with an abundance of grass clippings. Blood from my nose spattered on my shirt and pants just added a special ambiance.
I wish I had a picture of the looks on their faces, and the faces of the others at the patio bar. This is one of the most exclusive Country Clubs in the United States, and this golf course has hosted many a PGA,and LPGA event. We walked dripping mud and trailing grass trimmings into the patio bar, and sat with our friends, who had a truly horrified look on their face. They were staring, slack jawed and silent.
The manager or waiter approached, looking very apprehensive.
“Can I help you?”, he inquired.
I wiped at my nose and looked to see if it was still bleeding, “Tough hole.” I said casually.
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