#7: He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother

We’re all playing at the Tidewater golf course in Myrtle Beach early in the morning, the third week in September. Having just finished the third hole, a par three, 142 yards into the wind, I just took my third straight double bogey. I’m not playing very well up to this point and I’m slightly pissed at myself for swinging and putting so poorly. The game we are playing for this round is a two-man better ball of partners, Ryder Cup style. My brother Ron is in the golf cart with Archie and they are our opponents. Both Ron and Archie are playing rather well, but they are really taking their sweet ass time, playing really slowly. So slow, that the group in front of us now has one whole hole open between us and them, while the group behind us is waiting on almost every shot and it’s only the third hole.

 My partner, sweet swinging Dew, is not playing that badly but is getting zero help from me at this point, which puts us already at three down in the match. I am so pissed at my play and their slow play, that on the tee box on the next hole, I turned to my brother Ron and Archie, telling them both to pick up the pace of their game because we are starting to back up the whole golf course, pointing to the fact that we now have a whole hole open in front of us. I apparently did not do this in a very friendly tone of voice. My brother then turned to me and said, “Eat me! (He really likes this phrase) I just flew in from Seattle over 2000 miles away to get here and to relax by playing golf and I did not f–king fly all this way to play speed golf. So screw you! Just because you are playing like shit, doesn’t give you the right to take it out on the rest of us. So, go pound some sand up your ass!” He then just turned and walked away.

 Needless to say no one spoke to anyone after that exchange of words between the two loving brothers. We all just putted out on the 4^th hole not saying a word to anyone, while Ron and I sort of snarled and stared at each other as we walked off the green. From that green to the next tee is a little bit of a drive and you just happen to pass the men’s restroom on the way. Dew and I drove quickly to the next tee, hole number five, and waited and waited and waited for my brother and Archie to show up. Well, they not only stopped to take a leak, but my brother drove the golf cart extra slow, so as to make me wait and to get me madder and madder. It worked; I was now fuming by the time they finally showed up on the tee box.

 See, I have two brothers, Ron being the middle bro, and Billy being the youngest bro. All three of us are extremely competitive, extremely supportive, extremely close and very loving towards each other. Any one of us would throw ourselves on a grenade to save the other without giving it a second thought. That being said, as really true brothers, we are always trying to beat the living crap out of each other when it comes to golf. Ron’s the best golfer with a 10 handicap, while I struggle around a 16 handy, and the there’s Billy who just suck’s at the game, sporting a 28 or maybe even a higher handy. God, he is just plain bad! Billy, you see would rather exercise daily and take every vitamin known to man, while Ron and I would rather eat fried chicken, burgers, fries, and just be two slugs getting fat. When all three of us tee it up, there’s no shots given or taken, it’s just straight ‘mano y mano’ for beers and lunch in the 19^th hole. Somehow, Billy always gets stuck with the tab. He is a great brother and sport, but a terrible golfer; hence, he’s not allowed to join us in Myrtle Beach, because he would really screw up everyone’s game, plus we would all be subject to the daily benefits of the vitamins from the upper Tibetan mountains.

 When Ron and Archie finally showed up, I looked at my brother Ron just furious with him, ready to kill him.  Remember, Ron is 6’ 3” tall, weighing 250 lbs., sporting the same dreadlocks hair style as that of the NFL Steelers player, Troy Polamalu, No. 43. He just looked straight back at me with the biggest shit eating grin that he could muster up and mouthed the words, “Eat me!” I then realized that he was now playing with my emotions and I better get a grip on myself quickly, calm down or we are going to go further into the tank with this match.

 I glared at him again as he walked in super slow motion to the tee box to take a practice swing, which also was in super slow mo. He then hit a great drive that went straight down the middle of the fairway about 250 yards or so, turned to his right and proceeded to do a very bad Michael Jackson moonwalk all the way back to his golf cart, which is why he did not make the cut on Dancing with the Stars. All of a sudden I just started laughing out loud at just how ridiculous this whole thing looked, and then all four of us started laughing at the situation. The tension was now broken, the mood had changed all because my brother had the humor and insight to show me just how stupid this whole thing was.

 We all hit our next shots, and then headed to the green. I ended up with a 25 footer or so to birdie the hole, but I just could not seem to read that putt correctly. I asked my playing partner, Dew, for help and he also was confused as to which way the putt was going to break. As I lamented over the putt my brother walked over to me and said, “It’s going to break from left to right, so putt it about 8 inches out, hit it firm and should go into the hole”, and then he turned and walked over to where his ball was so he could line up his on putt.

 Ron’s partner immediately turned to him and said, “What the hell are you doing reading his putt for him. We are in a match and I want to continue beating the crap out of these guys”.

 My brother very quickly replied to him by saying, “Eat me! He’s my brother and I’m going to help him if I want to. Don’t you know – “He ain’t heavy, he’s my brother.” He then just stared down his partner and I just knew that he really meant it, with all of his heart and soul.

 To which I started to tear up inside because I’m just one big baby that cries at moments like this. I knew that he really does love me. He was absolutely correct; the putt did break to its right about 8 inches. I had relined my putt according to what my brother had said, took the putter back, making a very smooth fluid putting stroke, that sent the ball heading on the correct line right towards the hole with just the right amount of speed and it just lipped out. I think I missed the putt because my eyes were still a little bit watery. Either way, Dew and I won the match one up on the 18th hole. Father Flanagan would have been so very proud of my brother, I know I am.