Golf Question of the Week: What’s the Dumbest Thing You’ve Ever Seen on the Course?

For me, it usually involves some knucklehead who claims to be a 10 handicap (but is closer to a 30), has a hissy fit after hitting a predictably poor shot, and chucks his golf club. Something like this:

That’s right, pal. It’s Taylor Made’s fault your game sucks.

Four years ago, I took my family to Ocotillo Golf Club in Chandler, Arizona for Easter Brunch. My then-infant son started fussing, so I took him outside the clubhouse so as not to subject our fellow holiday patrons to a temper tantrum. Little did I know that Nicky’s bellowing would pale in comparison to the epic meltdown we were about to witness on Number Nine.

It was there where an animated, portly chap, riding solo in his golf cart, drives up to his ball to hit his next shot – a 130-yard approach to an elevated green next to the clubhouse, with nothing but water separating the green from this Chris Farley clone. Farley takes a mighty hack, and the ball dribbles three feet into the drink.

Harumph. Farley digs into his pocket, retrieves another ball, and takes a drop. Takes another hack. This time, the ball skips about 12 times across the hazard before meeting its demise.

Double harumph. Now Farley’s rifling through his trousers to find yet another Top Flite, looking very much like a swarm of bees is attacking his crotch. No more balls in his pockets, Farley now storms to the back of his cart and tears apart his golf bag to get another. Club covers, towels and tees are flying in all directions. By now, Farley’s attracting an audience.

Mission accomplished on the ball-finding expedition, Farley storms back to the drop point, spikes his new-found Top Flite, and lets out an animated sigh. This one, for sure, will find the mark. Or else.

Farley swings, and the ball arcs high and seemingly far enough to reach the green. Only a gust of wind picks up, stops the ball dead in its tracks, and deposits the ball in the water a mere five yards away from the green.

Now Farley’s in orbit. He wheels around and heaves his club in a furious rage – only to forget that the Club Car is right in his path. The club leaves Farley’s hand … ricochets off the front hood of the Club Car … pirouettes beautifully, about half as high as his last shot … and lands softly. Right in the middle of the drink.

Farley pauses in disbelief, drops his head in shame, trudges back to his Club Car, plops in his seat and folds his arms like the kindergartner sent to the corner for misbehaving. The gallery claps in appreciation – no Eggs Benedict special would ever match the pure entertainment value of what they had unexpectedly witnessed.

Playing in the Golf Capital of the World, I’m sure you’ve got a story or two like this one that you’d like to share. Let us know!