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It was Doc’s idea, of course.
That’s what made it sing. That’s why it took off in gales of
laughter and fun.
He knew we needed the money for the children in our area who might
be without warm clothes this winter, so he brainstormed among
himself and came up with the golf tournament.
He went to Delbert McLain, who is our local chamber of commerce.
Delbert’s eyes lit up at the suggestion, but then suddenly clouded
over with doubt.
“But Doc,” Delbert said, “we don’t have a golf course.”
“Leave that to me, Delbert me lad. Leave that entirely to me.”
And so our medical leprechaun talked to two farmers whose land
adjoined each other, and after they quit laughing, they agreed.
Doc rounded up Dud and Herb Collins and laid out an 18-hole golf
course in about an hour. They used steel t-posts for flags (with
bandanas tied to the top) and dug a hole with a shovel. They put
smaller flags at the tee-off spots, and there you go! An 18-hole
golf course that was one hundred percent hazard.
No fairway, just hazard. Rocks and trees and Lewis Creek and the
occasional cactus and yucca. Doc figures if you make it around all
18 holes without encountering a poisonous snake, you should get
bonus points. [to top of second
column] |
“This course,”
said Doc, “is so bad, everyone will want to play, because everyone
will have a terrific excuse for having a terrible game.”
The cattle were moved to safer locations before the tournament
began, and enough money was raised to keep the kids warm this
winter.
“Life,” said Doc, “should be ridiculous and fun. So let’s do this
again next fall.”
[Text from file received from
Slim Randles]
Brought to you by
Saddle Up, A Cowboy Guide to Writing by Slim Randles. On the
internet and from Rio Grande Publishing in Albuquerque.
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