Today I’d like to discuss that male ritual – The Annual Guys Golf Trip. Starting in 1998, every spring I have gone on a golf trip. From 1998 through 2007, we went to Las Vegas. Ahhhh….Vegas.
The evolution of the Vegas years can be explained quite easily: It started out as a golf trip to Vegas but became a trip to Vegas where we played golf. Don’t get it? Let me explain.
In 1998, for my 38th birthday, my wife and parents sent me to Vegas with guys for a few days of golf. On the 2nd day, we played 2 rounds at Primm Valley, just over the border in California. A great day which I finished up by having the cart girl follow my group around for the last few holes so I wouldn’t be without a cold beer. When the round was over and the sun was setting over the desert and the surrounding mountains, I called Linda and said “Honey, this is the biggest mistake you ever made. I’m not asking you, I’m telling you I’m doing this every year.” So far, I have.
But I digress. That first year, the group flew from NY to Vegas on Thursday morning. Most of us on the trip were in our 30s. We played one round Thursday afternoon, 2 rounds on Friday, a round on Saturday, a round on Sunday and than we flew home. 4 days, 3 nights, 5 rounds of golf. I saw the pool for a couple of hours, never saw the spa, dinner was at the buffet.
As the years went by, we eventually ended up flying to Vegas on Tuesday. We played one round each day. If we weren’t eating lunch at the pool by 2 PM, golf took too long. I loved to nap in the spa. We never saw the buffet. 5-6 days, 5 nights, great dinners, 5 rounds of golf. By now, most of us were in our 40s and the trip was becoming more about Vegas and less about golf.
After the 2007 Vegas trip, our fearless leaders – Dave and Artie – decided it was time to put the emphasis back on the golf in golf trip. For the last 3 years, the trip has gone to Bandon Dunes on the Pacific Coast of Oregon. Ahhhh…Bandon Dunes. Golf heaven. 2 rounds a day, all walking (with caddies but still that’s lots of walking), great courses, great views of the Pacific Ocean, no pool, no spa, lots of scotch. And many of us have crossed the line into our 50s.
But what does all of this have to do with theme of this post? Don’t worry, I’m getting there. While we were in Bandon, my friend Gregg wrote on his facebook account “Ten years ago on this trip after the rounds, all of the ice went into glasses surrounded by vodka and scotch. Now all of the ice is in bags nestled upon our joints. We all love our 50s.” Luckily for me, a prescription strength Ibuprofen and a large glass of MacCallan’s still does the trick but I suspect my icing days will come
So now, let’s get to this 90 degree rule. When you are a golfer driving a golf cart, the course might give you some options on how to drive on the course. One of those is the 90 degree rule. Drive your cart on the path until you are in-line with your ball, than turn directly towards your ball driving into the fairway at a 90 degree angle. On the other hand, I have my own 90 degree rule, which doesn’t really have anything to do with golf. In Ira-Land, when your gut puts so much pressure on your belt buckle that it faces straight down at your feet, that’s the 90 degree rule. It’s not a bad thing, it’s just one of those things us thin people get away with saying. I also get away with telling people that are follickly challenged that they are losing their hair because I still have most of mine.
Someday, maybe I will be a victim of the 90 degree rule and maybe I will even lose my hair. For now, I will just enjoy my smallish gut and full head of hair and continue to do what I do best. Make fun of those less fortunate than me.