The Derby

I played golf last Sunday. That's not really a big revelation or an uncommon occurrence, but what was uncommon was the type of golf I played.

You see, I was in a competition called "The Derby." This derby I speak of involves ten teams. Each team is comprised of one man and one woman who have been randomly paired together. The teams play nine holes of golf (alternating shots, so if the woman tees off the man hits the next shot, and so on), and on each hole one team (the one with the highest score) is eliminated.

Sounds relatively simple, right?

Except I forgot to add a few details. Like the fact that people in 20+ other golf carts follow along for the entire event, hooting and hollering and drinking and even honking their cart horns if they happen to have one. And a fellow with a bullhorn is there too, announcing who's up to hit and making random comments and witty asides in each person's backswing.

Then there's the fact that you never know when you'll be faced with a random challenge—like playing one hole with a tennis racket and tennis ball or having a dance-off on the green. (The winner off the dance-off got to move their ball two club lengths closer to the hole, so I whipped out the shopping cart and a few key 80s moves. But alas, we got second, so our ball didn't move until we putted it).

Intrigued yet? I was, which was why I agreed to give it a try when asked. Lucky for me, I was paired with one of Conservative Boy's best friends, A.F., who had never played in the derby either. So we knew we'd have fun, even if we didn't win.

We managed to make it through the 16th hole (we played the back nine), which means we got fourth. But man oh man did we have to scramble to get fourth. A.F. was nervous and I wasn't hitting very well, so we managed to get ourselves into trouble on pretty much every hole. We were among the worst scorers on nearly every hole—on a couple, we tied for last and had to have a playoff to stay in the game. That's how we went out on number 16, because my playoff putt was six inches too short. Boo. Hiss. (Have I mentioned I'm a bit competitive?)

Even though we didn't come away with the big W, it was fun. Very fun. As long as you can handle a bit of harassment and people yelling "the Wyoming Wonderrrrr" every time you get up to swing. Which, you know, is pretty much like every other day on the course, right?

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