That Was a Lot of Bull
Golf is a sport. Golf is challenging. Golf is demanding. Golf is aggravating. Golf is about Zen, maturation, soul searching, honesty, dishonesty, mental anguish, foul language, promises to the universe, and a provocative search for the meaning of life. Or, it’s nothing more than a beer-filled afternoon of bullshitting with friends while wearing some cool clothes and playing a game. I’m not sure, probably depends on the day.
One thing I am absolutely sure of is this: GOLF AIN’T CHEAP!!!!! Like most any pastime of modern-day, a significant cash outlay is required to do it with any success. There is the initial costs of equipment, clothing, and balls, lots of balls. These are rotating costs. Then there are the ongoing costs like greens fees, cart rental and driving range usage, and for some, lessons.
I really can’t say who got it started, but several of my friends were playing and I had played a little in a former life, so I thought I might as well pick it back up. The biggest problem was that my friends and I were in our early years of marriage, had small children, and were broke. As for myself, I was starting on my second go-round, so I was “double broke.”
Not allowing the “state-of-the-union,” fiscally speaking, to become a hindrance to my newly rediscovered pastime, I attempted to save a few coins by practicing at home. To set the stage, I live on the top of a hill with a little over 100 acres sloping downhill to a creek that is approximately three-quarters of a mile behind my house. The property is relatively narrow, measuring maybe 300 yards wide. With the exception of the grounds immediately surrounding my house, the property is fenced in and at the time was leased to a neighbor for use in cattle farming.
On this particular Sunday, I grabbed my driver, (golf club used for hitting the ball off the tee) and started hitting balls and then walking to retrieve them. I had with me my trusty partner, Fancy, a reddish colored Golden Retriever who was pretty adept at finding golf balls. On my first volley, I had scattered the balls across the field from about 200 yards to 260 yards away as a good estimate. Then Fancy and I began a walk to collect the balls to hit ‘em again. On the way, I saw that about 20 new cows had been moved to the field, and I also noted a very large bull that I had previously not noticed. I didn’t think much of it though, because I had done this before and it wasn’t uncommon for a bull to share my practice range.
I should note here that in practicing this way it is expected to lose the majority of the balls, but in this case, the grass was short and mostly dead due to a recent harvest of hay, and I had Fancy, who helped a lot in locating and retrieving the balls. Fancy and I began collecting the balls, finding most of them, but while rounding up the last few, the bull had eased closer to us, out of curiosity I suppose. For the first time, I got a good look at him. I am neither a cowboy nor a cattle farmer. My family had always been row croppers and I knew very little about members of the bovine group, however, this one was one of those with the big growth on his back. He had big floppy ears and a somewhat unsymmetrical pair of horns. I had a suspicion that the nose ring he sported yielded specific information. And I was correct in my assumption. Boy was I ever.
Fancy saw that I had changed the general direction of my golf ball search and followed suit. If you have never seen a retriever work, it is an amazing sight to behold. Retrievers move around at a pretty fast pace, nose to ground, using their sense of smell and their eyes in the search, and cover an area using a somewhat specific pattern. They may cross over their previous path a time or two as a double-check, but for the most part, they become singularly focused on the task at hand. I halted my search to marvel at the economy with which Fancy worked, her pattern ever-widening, and paying absolutely ZERO attention to the bull. Her only mission was to bring me a golf ball because she knew that then she would be given praise and attention for a job well done. But to quote Cowboy Troy, “you know where it’s goin’ ‘B’.”
Yep, Fancy’s search took her a little too close to the bull, he lunged toward her and being so engrossed in her task, it startled her. With a quick yelp, she retreated with the bull right behind her. The surreal scene that followed is still very fresh in my mind. After about 10 yards in the opposite direction from where I silently stood, the bull changed directions as if I had yelled a personal insult at him. He stopped, looked at me and I stood completely still. He lowered his head and I took a slow half step to turn around, and as if a green light went off in his mind, he charged. To the left, I saw that I was about 75 yards away from the fence. I was probably over 200 yards away from the safety of a fence to my right. It was somewhere around 225 yards and up the hill to my house, and that was the direction I chose. I broke into a full sprint with about a 30-yard head start. Going left would have been shorter, but the bull had a good angle on me to that side. I just ran. After a distance, I looked back and he had closed the gap and I was starting to get a little worried. Afraid to look back, I kept running. I had a $300 driver in my hand in which I knew would have no effect as a weapon against this beast, but when I looked and he was still gaining, I threw the club out to my right and ran harder. Now at about 10 yards away, I started thinking of options. The best I could come up with is the rodeo clown thing.
If you have ever attended a rodeo, you may have noticed the rodeo clown. I don’t know all that I don’t know about rodeo clowns and their history, but I do know that rodeo clowns are athletes. They are there to protect the bull rider once on the ground by distracting the bull while the bull rider makes his escape. The rodeo clown thing is a maneuver where the clown, with a bull bearing down on him, would make a quick reverse in direction and run straight along the side of the bull in the opposite direction. The clowns have a few distinct advantages while doing this in the rodeo arena. The first is just that, they are in the closed confines of the arena. Secondly, the rodeo arena is full of thick tilled dirt to help soften the impact when a rider gets thrown, but it also aides the clown to plant his foot confidently without sliding in order to reverse direction. Finally, underneath those clown getups, they are athletes in extremely good physical condition.
I had none of the aforementioned advantages. I was running for my life and really didn’t feel that I was going to survive, especially when Fancy passed us both in her retreat. I elected to continue running and to hold up on the clown maneuver for fear that I might slip on my reverse and get gored to death right there. A second reason for my choice was that I had no idea of another move after the clown maneuver even if I successfully pulled off the turn. I could now hear the thundering hooves and the blowing sound the bull made as it ran. I threw my head straight up and continued to run, thinking the entire time that this was the day that I would meet glory.
I looked back again and it appeared that I was gaining separation. I had covered a good distance, but the bull was still in pursuit. When I looked again, the bull appeared to have given up. I kept running though for a bit, then slowed to a jog, keeping an eye on him until I reached the safety of the perimeter fence. I rolled under the fence and just lay there for a good while catching my breath. I guess we were both worn out, but even so, the bull followed me almost all the way. Then hung out for a while about 50 yards away from the fence.
Later, I used my daughter’s 4-wheeler to retrieve my golf club and almost couldn’t resist the chance to chase him a bit. But I figured that it was best to leave well enough alone, after all, he was just doing what any bull would do.
The experience was one of several instances in my life that could have turned very badly. I can only surmise that I’ve been spared to fulfill some other purpose. Until then, I wait, and I do my best to avoid bulls in general, but especially those with a ring in his nose.