It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday and I was a little bored so I swung past the local golf club to see if I could pick up a game with someone. I quite like golf but I prefer to play it with a partner. The trouble was that at this stage of the afternoon I'd probably be out of luck partner wise. Still, I could use the practice.
It turned out that I was in luck. A trio were about to start out and they didn't mind me making up a foursome. My new friends were a married couple, Mike and Wendy, and George, someone like me who'd been hoping for a partner or two.
It was George's suggestion that we pair up and have a friendly competition, losers to shout the others a drink. I was OK with that but we ran into one small problem.
"I am not pairing up with Mike in a competitive game," Wendy flatly stated. "He tries to dictate what I should do."
"Friendly advice is all," protested Mike. "You know I'm a better player."
"Maybe, but when we're playing your friendly advice sounds distinctly unfriendly."
"I'll partner you," I offered. "Your husband can team up with George. I have to warn you, I'm not the best player in this club."
(Or the second or third best. Probably not even in the top one hundred.)
So we started off and after the first hole it was obvious to me that Wendy and I were in for a bit of a hiding. Mike was good, and George just as good. Wendy, on the other hand, was my type of player. The type who says, "I see the ball and I hit it (hopefully) in that direction and pray."
OK, so I was going to lose. I could afford a round of drinks.
I found out why Wendy didn't want to play with Mike on the third hole. She'd hit a nice shot and it landed on the green. Only just on the green, but it was there. Mike promptly started in with the advice, telling Wendy which club to use and how to hit the ball. I intervened.
"Ah, excuse me, Mike, but Wendy is my partner. I must ask you to refrain from unsolicited advice as it may put her off her game. You're the competition, remember."
Mike laughed and stepped back. "On your own head be it," he said smugly.
Wendy gave me a fulminating look.
"I suppose that now you're going to tell me what to do."
"What? Me? Oh, OK. Why not? See the ball?" I said, pointing to it. "Try to hit in in that hole over there."
"That's it? That's your advice?"
"Um, something more? Ah, if you do it with a single shot no penalties will be required."
"Penalties? Golf doesn't have penalties," she said as she addressed the ball.
"It does when I play. If you stuff up the shot you'll have to play the next round commando. Well, damn."
With a seemingly effortless stroke she'd skidded the ball across the green and into the cup, giving her a two for a par three hole. That meant between the two of us we'd parred the hole.
"You don't think that Mike might notice if I went commando for a hole and object?" she asked, giving me a look.
"He'd probably object," I conceded, "if he noticed. I think you'll find he's so tied up in competitiveness that he wouldn't notice if you were playing naked. Not that I can make that penalty, unfortunately."
I wasn't kidding about Mike's competitive streak. He was not only competing with his wife and me but also with his own partner, wanting to make sure that he demonstrated that he was the top player in our little group.
"Just so you know," I murmured softly to Wendy, "the next time I say you're doing a penalty shot you'll have to undo your bra for the next whole, letting those lovely ladies swing free."
It was odd but any time I suggested a penalty Wendy would pull off an amazing shot. Either she was a damn sight better than she pretended or the thought of the penalties gave her that extra zip. I had a suggestion for her as we approached the final hole, not that it would matter what we did on this hole. We could score a couple of hole-in-ones and still lose the challenge.
"How would you like to make a hole-in-one?" I asked her.
"And exactly how am I supposed to manage that?"
"Easy. I call a penalty on your doing it. That should make it a certainty. You've come through with every penalty I've requested. It's disheartening, to say the least."
"Not going to happen," she said. "Neither the penalty nor the hole-in-one. You'll just have to resign yourself to losing out on all counts today."
"Oh, I don't know. I've had a fun afternoon. It wasn't as though I was expecting to win the game, although I had had some hopes where the penalties were concerned. As a matter of interest, are you a damn sight better player than your husband thinks or were they all lucky shots?"
"A bit of both," she said with a laugh. "Let's say I'm not as bad as he thinks and I had my share of luck. And I had that incentive. I didn't really fancy teeing up and driving while commando."
"So who's having what?" I asked as we entered the clubrooms. "As high scorer for the day I guess I buy the first round."
"Very high scorer," jibed Mike, a comment I grandly ignored. I mean, really, deduct my handicap and I wasn't that far behind his score. I considered again. OK, even deducting my handicap, I still got trounced but I was learning. I'm not sure what I was learning; modesty, humility, and good sportsmanship, probably. I sure didn't seem to be learning golf.
George ordered a beer, while Wendy and I both went for orange juice. I assumed that, like me, Wendy was driving. Mike, seeing someone else was paying, ordered a scotch.
After having his beer George thanked us all for an interesting game and departed. Mike was still in a competitive mood and challenged me to a game of pool. I was quite happy to accept. Pool I can play and I wiped the table with him. He had another whiskey and demanded another game.
That man could not stand losing. He kept sculling his whisky's down and insisting on another game, even though he hadn't come close to winning one. I finally called a halt to it when he wanted to put money down.
"I think I'll pass on that," I told him. "With my luck you're probably a regular pool shark, lulling me into a false sense of security before cleaning out my wallet. How about I buy you another drink and then I'll hit the road."
Mike went along with the free drink, assuming I was too timid to play when money was on the table. I steered him back to Wendy and sat him down while I fetched him another whisky. Wendy had better be driving. Mike was just about out of it.
Mike sat there slurping up his drink and I made goodbye noises, only to be stopped by Wendy.
"Hold it, Greg," she said. "This time I'm calling a penalty."
I raised an eyebrow and waited.
"You helped to get him plastered," she said, smiling sweetly, "so you can help me get him into the car."
I had to concede that she had a point. She coaxed Mike to his feet and once he was standing I assisted him to walk out of the clubrooms. This meant I half-carried him out. I was surprised to find that so much time had passed. It was quite dark outside.
Wendy indicated the direction of their car and traipsed along ahead of me. I followed obediently, half dragging Mike, while watching her pretty little tush roll around as she walked. Did she know what her bottom did when she walked? It occurred to me that she must, because it hadn't wobbled around like that out on the course. She was doing it deliberately, the little minx.
Their car was over to the back of the carpark with no lights around, rendering the area rather gloomy. Wendy beeped the car doors to unlock them and opened up the rear door for Mike.
"In the back?" I queried.
