B.C. Bud

22 02 2012

Dear Chief,

Just a few quick lines to let you know how things are going in sunny Comox. First off, it actually is sunny in Comox today. True we had a bit of a frost delay this morning, and granted Dave Laird  is still firmly of the opinion that the day would have been better spent working as an (unpaid) labourer on his son’s house rather than spend 4 hours shooting 105 yet again and having to buy Steve Ellis another coffee. Glen Parsons, who cheerfully admits to ‘not being much of a mudder’, is still in a state of shock at being expected to play in temperatures hovering around 6 degrees C. (Serves him right for floating around the Caribbean in his cousin’s gin palace if you ask me). As you know, muddy fairways don’t bother me so much, me being British and all, and it definitely helps being able to tee my ball up on the nearest glob of mud: I’ve been hitting some great 3 woods off the fairway (well, great if you consider 170 yard 3 woods to be great. I do). On the other hand, I actually pulled my groin hitting out of the mud on #6 fairway the other day, so it’s not all wine and roses. Robin’s playing very steadily and doesn’t complain much – he never does, does he? – and is quietly becoming the star performer in the group. But the main focus of attention over the past few days has been the Budmeister:

Is it ‘Honest Bud’ or ‘Not Quite As Honest As He Appears’ Bud?

Last Friday we played our normal three v three, best aggregate net score wins game, as we often do when six of us show up to play. As you know, honesty is key to this game, as each group is responsible for keeping its total net scores and then comparing them at the end. Following the time-honoured ball toss on the first tee, Robin, Lairdo and I finished up playing against Bud, Elmo and Steve. Our group played steady if unspectacular golf and finished with an aggregate net score of 217, or 4 over par. It would have been a couple of strokes better, but for Robin and me somehow switching balls half way down the last hole and thus having to take automatic doubles. Bah! We were hoping it wouldn’t affect the outcome of the match but, sure enough, Bud’s group came in at 216 to win by a single stroke. Double bah!! Somewhat glumly our group paid for the post round coffees in the clubhouse and generally bemoaned our misfortune (or stupidity – call it what you will), while Bud’s group exulted in their victory. “And boy, you sure hit my driver well on those last couple of holes, Bud!”, said Steve. “Pardon?”, I said, “YOUR driver?”. “Shut up, Steve”, said Bud. Too late, the cat was out of the bag. Clear infringement of the rules, two stroke penalty for using someone else’s club. Only trouble was, we’d already bought the coffee and Bud was claiming it wasn’t a ‘proper’ rule anyway. All appeals to his sense of justice and fair play fell on deaf ears. The fact that Robin and I had fessed up to our own faux pas made no difference either. Even my plea to Bud as a fellow Hampshire Hog (motto: ‘Ampshire born and ‘Ampshire bred – strong in the arm and thick in the ‘ead) had absolutely no effect. Calling him a cheating b*st*rd made me feel a bit better, but still didn’t get me my money back.

Today, however, fortune dictated that Bud and I were on opposing sides once again and this time my threesome scored a pretty comprehensive victory. I tried not to be too gleeful as Bud paid for my coffee, not even throwing in the old line about how it was the best coffee I’d ever tasted. Then, unasked, Bud slid a toonie across the table in my direction. ” Now, Brooker,” he said, fixing me with a pretty evil glare, “We’re quits.” “Er, thanks Bud,” I gulped. I guess now’s not the time to mention a certain person in our threesome hitting the flagstick with a putt on #8 today. Probably best left to a future occasion. Anyway, the good news is that Bud has been officially upgraded back to “Honest Bud” again. “Honest Dave?” Not so much. I guess I’d better buy him a coffee on Friday…

In the meantime, Chief,  I hope all is well with you in Arizona. Yes, I am glad that it’s so sunny and warm there and no, I don’t want to see your  knobbly knees when you get back, however brown they are.

All da best!

‘Somewhat Honest’ Dave

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