shouts the barker, literally grabbing us as we walk by. “You don’t have dry hands! It’s ruining your
game!”
Lucky for me, he has Dry Hands lotion, “the ultimate gripping solution!,” which he is now frantically squirting on my palms
even though I didn’t ask him to. “It actually repels water and perspiration! Hit those hands with some water!” he blurts at
his assistant, who immediately pours a glass of water on my palms—and the water rolls right off!
I have very dry, very milky-colored hands for the rest of the day.
Dry Hands: -2 strokes, he says: “At least!”
Tees! Do you mean to tell me it actually matters what kind of
tees
I use?
“Absolutely!” barks the tee man. “Our tees employ advanced technological advances.”
Okay, then. His Perfect-Tee, for example, has not one prong but two! How’s
that
for progress? It has two prongs for greater distance, “more confidence,” consistent ball height, and adjustable ball trajectory.
I tell him that I already have adjustable ball trajectory. Mine adjusts, automatically, without any input from me, from wormburner
to the bottle rocket trajectory. But before you go getting cynical on me, just listen to this Perfect-Tee endorsement from
James C. White of Birmingham, Alabama: “I had no trouble with my balls falling off in high winds.” Nobody wants that.
Direct-A-Tee is a bent, 45 degree angle tee, for—guess what? More distance and accuracy through “scientific development.”
And! It is the golf tee of the future. Another tee boasts its “biodegradability,” which means it’s wood. Also, “it goes in
the ground easier”—and you know how tired you get pushing those damned tees in the ground all day, especially when you use
tees for almost every shot (except putting), like I do.
Also, there’s a “South African revolutionary” tee. We didn’t even know South African revolutionaries were golfers. We figured
it was the white guys. With this one, you set the ball on toothbrush bristles, the Brush-T. “Wood and plastic,” said a rather
unrevolutionary-looking sales rep, “are over.”
“How many strokes will it take off my game?”
“On average? Three or more.”
Techno Tees: -3 strokes
Perhaps the greatest advance at the show, although Jody may beg to differ, is embodied in two attractive young women advancing
toward us, passing out literature for their services. No one brushes aside
their
brochures and
everybody
reads them, carefully.
They’re
the product, offered by Caddy Girls USA, a firm (very) providing comely, young—but legal—women in short skirts to caddie
for you, the golfer. The picture on the brochure shows just such a babe going over a (golf) scorecard with a client as they
sit together, very snugly, in a cart. The brochure reads: “Need a caddy? Have more fun. From the bag drop until the final
putt on the 18th green Caddy Girls will caddy, encourage, and entertain the entire round. Caddy Girls offers a team of attractive,
knowledgeable, and entertaining girls that will make any golf outing a memorable event.”
It stays away from terms like “scoring” and “strokes,” but “encourage,” “entertain,” “bag drop”—it all sounds beneficial to
my game.
Caddy Girls: +5 strokes
Carts are, of course, critical. I actually own my own. It came with a house we bought, thrown in by the sellers for two hundred
bucks. Right away it needed $300 worth of batteries, a new tire, and several other repairs. It has yet to be on a golf course.
My nieces and nephews love it, driving it ceaselessly around and around the yard, killing the grass and nearly themselves,
while screaming at each other all day over whose turn it is to drive. The guys at the local auto repair shop love my golf
cart, which is kind of an annuity for them—a golden goose that just keeps on giving. The shop has done about $1,000 in repairs
to it over the last three years. The kids drove it into the
game!”
Lucky for me, he has Dry Hands lotion, “the ultimate gripping solution!,” which he is now frantically squirting on my palms
even though I didn’t ask him to. “It actually repels water and perspiration! Hit those hands with some water!” he blurts at
his assistant, who immediately pours a glass of water on my palms—and the water rolls right off!
I have very dry, very milky-colored hands for the rest of the day.
Dry Hands: -2 strokes, he says: “At least!”
Tees! Do you mean to tell me it actually matters what kind of
tees
I use?
“Absolutely!” barks the tee man. “Our tees employ advanced technological advances.”
Okay, then. His Perfect-Tee, for example, has not one prong but two! How’s
that
for progress? It has two prongs for greater distance, “more confidence,” consistent ball height, and adjustable ball trajectory.
I tell him that I already have adjustable ball trajectory. Mine adjusts, automatically, without any input from me, from wormburner
to the bottle rocket trajectory. But before you go getting cynical on me, just listen to this Perfect-Tee endorsement from
James C. White of Birmingham, Alabama: “I had no trouble with my balls falling off in high winds.” Nobody wants that.
Direct-A-Tee is a bent, 45 degree angle tee, for—guess what? More distance and accuracy through “scientific development.”
And! It is the golf tee of the future. Another tee boasts its “biodegradability,” which means it’s wood. Also, “it goes in
the ground easier”—and you know how tired you get pushing those damned tees in the ground all day, especially when you use
tees for almost every shot (except putting), like I do.
Also, there’s a “South African revolutionary” tee. We didn’t even know South African revolutionaries were golfers. We figured
it was the white guys. With this one, you set the ball on toothbrush bristles, the Brush-T. “Wood and plastic,” said a rather
unrevolutionary-looking sales rep, “are over.”
“How many strokes will it take off my game?”
“On average? Three or more.”
Techno Tees: -3 strokes
Perhaps the greatest advance at the show, although Jody may beg to differ, is embodied in two attractive young women advancing
toward us, passing out literature for their services. No one brushes aside
their
brochures and
everybody
reads them, carefully.
They’re
the product, offered by Caddy Girls USA, a firm (very) providing comely, young—but legal—women in short skirts to caddie
for you, the golfer. The picture on the brochure shows just such a babe going over a (golf) scorecard with a client as they
sit together, very snugly, in a cart. The brochure reads: “Need a caddy? Have more fun. From the bag drop until the final
putt on the 18th green Caddy Girls will caddy, encourage, and entertain the entire round. Caddy Girls offers a team of attractive,
knowledgeable, and entertaining girls that will make any golf outing a memorable event.”
It stays away from terms like “scoring” and “strokes,” but “encourage,” “entertain,” “bag drop”—it all sounds beneficial to
my game.
Caddy Girls: +5 strokes
Carts are, of course, critical. I actually own my own. It came with a house we bought, thrown in by the sellers for two hundred
bucks. Right away it needed $300 worth of batteries, a new tire, and several other repairs. It has yet to be on a golf course.
My nieces and nephews love it, driving it ceaselessly around and around the yard, killing the grass and nearly themselves,
while screaming at each other all day over whose turn it is to drive. The guys at the local auto repair shop love my golf
cart, which is kind of an annuity for them—a golden goose that just keeps on giving. The shop has done about $1,000 in repairs
to it over the last three years. The kids drove it into the
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