Pearle (Father of Roger) Lloyd, and Earle "Smear" Laird in 1964

The 2004 Jekyll Island Golf Trip is now history. The weather this year was damned near perfect. (for a change)  While Earle "Windesmear" Laird was greatly missed by all, we are certain he will rejoin the crew in 2005.  He's making great progress following his recent heart surgery.  Filling in for the Smear" this year was Craig Fletcher, father of regular Matt. Craig was a great addition to the trip. Hopefully he will be able to join us again.

We were all thrilled with the fact that Todd Gates was once again manning the front desk of the Quality Inn. In what has become a tradition, Todd again managed to fuck up the bills. He had us all scheduled for one fewer night than we were actually staying. Consequently, no one's key cards would open a door the last day of the trip.

Crystal Meth was also again lurking the cart paths of the courses, plying her wares and looking pale as always. New this year for Crystal was a custom apron with her name embroidered on it, just in case she forgot who she was.

It is with a heavy heart that I report that the infamous Mr. Hydes is no more. The scene of many nights of frivolous frolicking simply imploded sometime during the night of October 13th. Hydes was THE Place to be and be seen on Jekyll Island.  Featuring horribly over-priced drinks, some of the worst food on the face of the earth and a clientele consisting mainly of dykes, transvestites, alcoholics, and white trash, Mr. Hydes was the absolute hub of the 85 and under Island social life.

Sadly missed by all. RIP

It was no great revelation that I was given the “Second Worst from the Sand” award.  Truth be told, I was a lock for runaway winner until something finally clicked. 

We started our sojourn at Laurel Island, where I had the opportunity to observe both the junior and senior Fletcher drub and blast away at sand shots so masterfully, that I had no choice but to emulate.  It was here, that I invented the shot combination that I would later name the “chunk-hack-skank.”  The first shot, the “chunk” or approach to the green, required a shot hit so fat that it barely made it into a greenside bunker.  The second in this series, the “hack” was an attempted blast from the back of the bunker that was struck so far behind the ball and so deeply into the sand, that it simply hacked forward a few feet in the bunker.  The third shot, being clearly agitated at this point, was the “skank,” a thinly hit blast of about eighty yards.  This skank invariably flew well beyond the green, usually hitting or a cart path on its way out of bounds or into the junk.  What followed was usually a desperate attempt to save double-bogey, with the ball ultimately ending up in my pocket.  The chunk-hack-skank became a family affair as I showed Stevo how to hit this combination of shots.  He had it mastered in only nine holes of playing with me, which of course, led him to the coveted award.

I suffered through three or four rounds of the chunk-hack-skank, which culminated in the fabled lob-wedge toss of nearly 100 yards on Pine Lakes #18.  (The wedge, of course, also hit the cart path and split apart like a celery stalk.)   It was then that I finally gave up on sand play altogether, aiming deep into the woods to avoid the bunkers, and trying to make bogeys and doubles from the trees.  It was a good plan to suppress the blinding rage, but not rendering the courses the meat they should be.  It was then, about seven rounds into our trip, that I remembered a golf shot I had witnessed my two-year old son perform with perfection.  He was able to cleanly lift a plastic golf ball off our sidewalk with a quick, lifting pick.  Could this same shot work from the sand?  I stopped aiming for the trees and began aiming at the short sides of the greens again.  I soon had my first opportunity to attempt the shot Alex invented on our walk.  With a quick, wristy move, I was able to cleanly pick the ball out of the sand and throw it on the green.  The shot was easy to repeat and was absent of any thought and therefore withstood the pressure of our high-dollar games.  My playing partners were very underwhelmed with its look.  I often heard comments like, “Jesus, that was an ugly shot.  Did you hit that with the rake?”  But alas, sanity returned to my sand play which quickly enabled me to meltdown in other vital areas.  I shall remember next year and will be offering lessons at Laurel Island on the way to Jekyll.  (I think I may have seen Stevo already attempt to copy this shot…or perhaps he just looked up?  Hard to say.)