Early on in life, our mother impressed upon her children the importance of being clean, tidy and dressed appropriately for all situations. Shined shoes, pressed shirts/pants and the occasional double Windsor were the order of the day. Her guidance/direction/actions extended to all aspects of our existence including such disciplines as the daily vacuuming of our carpets, ironed bed sheets, routinely practicing manners at the dinner table, never, and I mean never, touching the woodwork and the importance of taking proper care of possessions (i.e. baseball gloves, bicycles, pets, etc.).
So, there is a reason “I yam what I yam and that’s all what I yam” (Popeye the Sailor Man, circa 1930).
My learned, fastidious behaviors extended to the appearance and care of my golf bags; always buying a name brand, visually appealing satchel, always in black and always stored in the rear compartment of my SUV, never-ever permitting a sleepover in the possession of any other person or Club.
Through the years, my experiences with my trusty golf bags have been fraught with disaster!
Scenario #1: Dave and I were scheduled to play in a charity fundraiser at Bent Creek Country Club in Lancaster, PA. Arriving around 11:45 for a 1:00 shotgun start, we placed our golf bags alongside the curved cart path, with countless other bags, just shy of the entrance of Bent Creek’s cart barn. We pushed off for lunch, hoping there would be time for a few swipes on the driving range prior to the commencement of the event.
After lunch, we retraced our steps back to the entrance of the cart barn where we stumbled upon a rather unusual site; a Bent Creek employee, lying on his side, pumping a floor jack, attempting to raise the front of a golf cart off the ground. Assuming there was a flat tire, I directed my attention to locating my bag, anxious to get on with our day. Unable to find my bag, which created more than a little angst, I decided to take a closer look at the goings-on with the golf cart and the floor jack. There, in front of my very eyes, said Bent Creek employee was in the midst of dragging a familiar black Titleist bag out from under the jacked-up cart. Beaten and bedraggled, my black Titleist bag was worse for the wear, barely resembling its original condition.
As the story was told, a member of Bent Creek was returning his cart to the cart barn after a morning round. While attempting to navigate the curved path, the member lost control of his golf cart, dragging my bag a brief distance.
Off to Dick’s for a new bag!
Scenario #2: Returning from the Susquehanna River with a dead boat battery in the forward section of the rear compartment of my beloved Chevrolet Tahoe, I was on my way to Manny, Moe and Jack’s for a replacement battery.
Early on, I heard a curious noise originating from the rear compartment of the Tahoe. Thinking nothing of it, I continued on my way.
When I arrived in the parking lot of Pep Boys, I opened the rear hatch to find the dead boat battery on its side, while simultaneously noticing significant carpet damage to the rear deck from the battery acid. Somewhat frantic to remove the boat battery from my Tahoe, I immediately grabbed the handle of my golf bag, which was lying horizontally in the very back section of the rear compartment.
As I pulled my black Ping golf bag from my vehicle, the entire contents of my golf bag emptied onto the parking lot, including a dozen or so golf balls rolling aimlessly across the lot. In addition to the carpet damage, the battery acid had disintegrated all of the nylon threading from my Ping bag.
Off to Dick’s for a new bag!
Scenario #3: Recently, while placing my driver, 3-wood, rescue and putter into the back section of my black Sun Mountain 3.5LS black stand / carry golf bag, the handles of those clubs were curiously showing up in the ball compartment of my bag. In addition, the balance of my clubs weren’t settling correctly in the bottom of my bag. I somewhat ignored the situation, believing the liner that divides the club compartment of my bag from the ball compartment of my bag had somehow separated or torn.
With a friend coming from PA for a weekend of golf, I decided it was high time to clean my clubs and further diagnosis the liner problem. I removed my clubs from my bag, along with a few golf balls from the ball compartment. Curiously, there were only five balls in the ball compartment. Thinking I had more balls in my bag I flipped over my bag as six additional balls bounced off the floor of my garage.
Somewhat satisfied that I had retrieved all of my lost friends, I reached into the ball section of my bag to sort out the liner issue. My original diagnosis was accurate; the liner had torn between the club compartment and the ball compartment which also provided access to the very bottom of my bag. Reaching further into the bowels of my black Sun Mountain bag, I was stunned to discover two additional handfuls of golf balls. The final count…26 golf balls! Now everything made complete sense!
My bag was immediately admitted to the ER where an emergency appendectomy was performed to cure The Troubles, hoping to stave off yet another trip to Dick’s!
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