Email Blurbs

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The following are copied from regular promotional emails sent out by someone at Birdsfoot Golf Club, outside Pittsburgh, PA. I never have golfed there, but it looks like a beautiful course.

I was surprised to find out that not everyone thinks like I do. I like anything that is fun, or taste good. That is why I was surprised, when once again I put together my famous medley of Cheez-its & milk sprinkled with "ice-cream jimmies" to eat when I got hungry during my golf round. I offered it to ol' man Wilson when he said he was hungry on hole number three. He literally turned his nose up at it. I mean - who actually, literally turns their nose up at anything. I told him that he was being childish. He told me my medley was childish and that I should not only not eat it, but I should never tell anyone that I eat it. We stopped talking at that point. Then the Apple-pie salesman said, "Here c'mon guys this is no fun, have a little of my cobbler." That seemed to make everything better. That day I learned, no matter how bad things get, a little cobbler always seems to make things better.

It was a sad day when I decided to say goodbye to the ol' pair of shoes. They had seen some terrific golf rounds over the years. I often thought, "If only the shoes could talk . . . Oh , the stories they would tell." So, right before I threw them in the trash I decided to say something to them. First, I looked around at to make sure no one was looking and then I said, "Hey there little buddies - can you talk?" At first they didn't say a thing. Then in a scruffy, cigar scarred voice the right shoe bellowed, "Of course we can T-Bone." This was followed by a smooth, danty female voice from the left shoe that said, "Harold, you aren't supposed to speak to your master." The right shoe retorted, "What difference does it make he's throwing us out and we're still waterproof!" Then the left shoe started crying. I didn't know what to say. I did decide not to throw the shoes out that day. We worked out a distraction "technique" that they use when I am playing with the Apple Pie Salesman and Ol' Man Wilson, that is really handy. My compadres still haven't figured out why every time they line up a putt, "the green" whispers provocatively to them. I think I'll keep these talking shoes for a while.

It was a beautiful day, like this one. Once again the sun was shining. And once again I was engaged in an exhilarating match of golf with some of my favorite important people. These were the same guys that saw me putt with an open umbrella - remember. They were unusually dressed up on this day, with their normal slick doo, but today, they were wearing their tight brown trowsers, complimented by the floral wide collared button-downs. They were a chatty bunch - only they spoke in a completely different language most of the time. One played the fiddle on every third hole, which could only be characterized as strange, but endearing. On the seventeenth we were all singing a round of John Denver's hit, "Well life on the farm is kinda laid back, Ain't much an old country boy like me can't hack, Its early to rise, early in the sack . . ." Then Ginny came out of the tall grass with her arms in the air singing in a here great bellowing voice, "Thank God I'm a country boy." We all laughed. Once again, I have to say - what a woman.

I am often asked, "Where have you been?" To be honest, most of the time, I am unsure of where I've been. That is just not the way that I am wired. I go somewhere and then I come back. Afterwards, I generally don't remember the place as much as the food. If someone said ,"What have you eaten?" I would be quick to retort. For instance, this morning I had two pieces of pizza, a large coffee and some Cheez-it flavored biscotti. And that my friends is how you prepare for the day - no matter what Ginny says.

Luellen, or Lu-Lu for short, had been telling me for years that I needed a new putter. I kept telling her that she was full of mularky. And so, they day finally came that will forever be known as "PUTTOFF SHOWDOWN WEDNESDAY." I had just finished with a couple of hot dogs and was ready to crank up the old putter. It was an old Northwester with a copper back, and was affectionately known as, "THE HAMMER". Lu-Lu showed up with the newest in technology, as always. We both loosened up. The apple pie salesman and Ol' Man Wilson sat on lawn chairs covered with umbrellas. Their noses were white with suntan lotion. For this next part of the story, when you are visualizing this, imagine a movie montage featuring Lu-Lu and I focusing on a number of putts. We lip a few out and then disproportionately show disappointment. Ol' man Wilson and the apple pie salesamen cheer. And then finally it all comes down to one putt. We stared each other down. Lu-Lu draws back her putter and my FootJoys leather squeaks and she misses her putt. I then leapt in the air, kicked both my feet back and tossed the putter in the air. The old northwestern came to rest in two pieces after striking the apple pie salesman in the head. He's okay now (thanks to the umbrella) and as it turned out, I was the one that was full MULARKY.

Sometimes when you wake up you get struck by a crazy notion. Often times it is inexplicable - it comes from nowhere. On Saturday, when I awoke, I saw a pair of old running shoes. The shoes were red with whites stripes. I was shocked that the notion that came upon me was to go for a JOG! And so I quickly wolfed down my pop-tart, threw on my turbo, high-cut running shorts and a tank, placed a headband on my lid, laced up those red foot jets and zoomed out of there. Knowing my history, Ginny said, "Have fun and BE CAREFUL!" Of course I tripped on the door jam and fell down our concrete steps gashing my head. Luckily the white headband absorbed most of the blood. And that, my friends, is why I don't exercise.

I have a football helmet that I like to wear from time to time, I is a little tight. I wear it around when I am anticipating a bad run of luck. You see, ever since I've been small, things seem to fall on my head. My family always called me, "Head Bump Kid" (they weren't very creative with nicknames). I will say that it is hard to swing a golf club with that helmet on, but I know it is an important safety measure. If you ever want to try it on just ask.

One of my favorite things to do is think up pranks on my friends. Some of them have been telling me that they are getting quite tired of it all together. So I decided to put my prank suitcase in the closet and went golfing with some friends. This is what gets me though - after I put the goods away, the apple pie salesman sticks an apple pie on my seat when I am not looking and I, of course, sit in it. Like a man without a nation, now I am sitting there without my suitcase full of pranks, which really would have been handy. Luckily, I was able grab one of the guide ropes near the cart path and design a lasso, tree spring trap on the third hole. So when the apple pie salesman is looking for his ball, I start saying, "No over there a little bit more." Until finally he trips the trap and whoosh up into the tree! I laughed and laughed and then laughed some more until the police came and took me into the "big house." Ah - the life of a prankster.

I've been sitting under the tree a lot more lately and it has really been working out. People have been telling me that I need to relax a bit more. Generally I retort, "If you find sitting under a tree drinking 'Country Time' Lemonade is stressful than you can call me MR. STRESS!" This is usually followed by me throwing lemonade in their face. You can do this with chocolate milk as well.

I have always been an advocate of participating in all of the holidays. So, when Ginny said we were going on a Veterans day golf trip, I thought that sounded great. I told I would go get ready. I got my stethoscope, white coat and circle head mirror and walked downstairs holding a stuffed calico cat. Ginny didn't say anything about my outfit, which was disappointing, but we traveled along. On the first tee on our golf vacation, I started said, "Is this the time reserved under T-Bone? AND what are YOU supposed to be - Young Man?" I had no response. Ginny than said to the starter, "He thinks its veterinarians day - not veterans day. Always has." I guess everyone gets to laugh when this type of thing happens, except for me. That's when you take it out on the tee-ball. Now who's laughing. Not me - I am in the woods again. MAN What kind of Holiday is this!

It is the time of year when we all together to eat turkey and mint jelly while we spend time with friends and family. Ginny always says, "The proof is in the pudding". I do enjoy pudding with or without the proof in it.

If you've ever thought about wearing a bunny suit to the driving range, I recommend against it. The floppy ears make it really hard to swing. If you stand really still and stare at people though, I've noticed that they get really uncomfortable. This works without a bunny suit as well.

I was told a golf joke recently that was very funny, I was going to tell it, then I decided not too, but then I started laughing when I thought about it . . . well - here, I'll go ahead and tell it. . . . I was on the tenth tee and Lars came running down the fairway. He said, in his German accent, "T-Bone, Juan has been shot with a GOLF GUN" I said, "Lars calm down, what in the world is a golf gun?" Then he says, "I don't know but it shot a hole in JUAN!" Then he started laughing. I gathered that Juan didn't actually get shot by anything, but rather, Lars was trying to catch me asleep at he switch this early in the season. Shame on you Lars, shame on you.

Theodore never talked much while he was playing. It was a little unnerving, actually. He would just sit there wearing his funny hat, staring at me. I always felt his eyes burning into the back of my head while I was setting up for a shot. I guess I didn't have much to say to him either. And here we are splitting up after all of these years. We had been playing golf - through the good AND the BAD. Lately, there had been a lot more bad than good. It all came down last Thursday when I threw him in the woods. Theodore was my three-wood. He said that was it - he couldn't live with me anymore. I would be lying if I said he was my first.

I was a young bushy haired youth. The sun that day was brilliant and making the world extra crisp through my rose tinted glasses (they were literally rose tinted- this is not a metaphor). The competition was to be fierce with my rival - a young cowboy whose father was a baker of delicious pies. He was intimidating to behold - tall in stature, a cowboy hat and a big belt buckle. Well to make a long story short, we were on the thirteenth hole. It was mid-day. The match was tight. As I went into my backswing, the shine of that huge belt buckle blinded me. I pulled back and bellowed (imagine this with a slow-motion growl-like Rocky going down against Apollo Creed). My club struck the ball and it shot strait off the end of my driver sending the ball directly into the cowboy's buckle and back into my head of wild hair. The next thing I remember, I was in a hospital room, surrounded by delicious apple pies. The rest, as they say, is history.

I know fishing is important to some people. I have been fishing my entire life and I have never caught a fish that gave me the feeling of an accurate long iron into a well-guarded green. There was a time, though, when I was lining up a five iron to the green on hole two and a fish the size of a man came walking out of the woods. It was strange to me that he would be coming out of the woods and not the pond. I asked him about that. His response, "Hey bub, what is that you think you know about fish." And then he jumped into the pond. You know - it's one thing to be a human size fish walking out of the woods, but what is up with attitude? I asked my playing partner and he looked at me with a crooked smile and said, "Typical Fish - T-bone . . . Typical Fish."

Have you ever rolled down a hill on your side? I do it all the time. When I do it, I make this mumbling noise that gets loud and then soft. Ginny used to do it with me, but now she says she is too grown up. On Friday, I was having a "not-so-good" golf round and decided I would roll down the backside of hole number ten. I started rolling along making my noise and I ended up running into someone's foot on the 17th tee. I got up - dizzy as usual - and when I stood up I looked at the guy and - no joke - it was Lou Ferrigno. So, once again, I find myself in the presence of The Incredible Hulk at a loss for words. I did what I think anyone would have done in the same situation. . . I dropped to the ground and kept on rolling and mumbling. That's the kind of thing that seems to happen when I roll. Give it a try sometime.

I just got a pair of new shoes and they looked tip-top - All shined up and looking fantabulous. I was feeling like a fist full of fifties. Nothing could bring me down. I knew that if I were to play golf today I could beat anybody. So, I called Ol' Man Wilson and the Apple Pie Salesman to set up a match. The Apple Pie Salesman rolled up in his van of delicious pastries and my-oh-my was he in a mood! He started swearing and carrying on about this and that. It was so distracting while we were playing that I forgot totally about my new shoes. Then the Apple Pie Salesman turned to me a said they looked like CLOWN SHOES. That was it. I couldn't take it any more and I started slapping him with my famous windmill slap technique. After I thought about it, I realized how my oversized red shoes with striped knee-high socks may have looked like clown shoes after all. Next time I see the Apple Pie Salesman I will let him know. But you can never take back a slap -and that's a fact.

I have always thought that dancing in a "tu-tu" is for girls. I thought this for a long time, until I saw a professional football player rolling around in a tu-tu. So I thought, "What's good for the goose is good for the gander." Then I thought that I would put on a tu-tu and take on my worthy adversary, a/k/a "THE APPLE PIE SALESMAN." Ginny hemmed the pink dancing ensemble to fit perfectly. I laced up the ballet shoes and off I went. The Apple Pie Salesman got one look at me and said that he wasn't going to play with me because I what I was wearing was too distracting. I convinced him, that similar to a foul smell, a distracting appearance will loose its impact in tme. And it did. We went on to have a very competitive golf round. Despite a few odd looks from other golfers, I found it to be quite liberating to wear a tu-tu. After the final putt on hole 18, I did a classic ballet twirl. Next time though I will go without a tiara - it fell off and was rather embarrassing.

I love eating bologna sammies as much as the guy down the path, but there is no place for them in the ball pocket of my golf bag." This is how I used to think, until I actually put one of those sammies in there and WAPOW the smashed up bread really tasted tip-top. Make a note of it.

I've been running around lately and then kicking my feet up at the end of the day. The one thing that I enjoy the most about all of this is the kicking my feet up part. I really like it when I am able to put my feet up and my shoes fall right off and then my dog pulls the socks off with his teeth. That really never happened, so I should say I "would" really like it. My dog probably wouldn't do that - at least that is what Ginny says. Once again, she's right, I know it. What I am trying to say is that, after golf, I like putting my feet on a stool.

We had BARGE my good friend for dinner the other night. I told him that I have always wanted to fly a kite on the golf course. On Tuesday, the weather was just right for that kind of activity . . . and so I decided that I would go ahead build a kite from scratch. This kite was made of old balsa wood planes and crooked, curly willows. Then I used a Winnie the Pooh bed sheet as the kite part. And then I parked my tuckus on the Twelfth tee and began flying the kite with reckless abandon. Much to my surprise, I found the that the materials that I used to construct the flying object were not as "sturdy" as I thought. This resulted in quite a devastating crash into "BARGE". He didn't think it was funny, because it was his Winnie the Pooh bed sheet that he had brought over in case he got tired during dinner.

"Here comes the fish. The tall old fish." That is what I was singing when 'ol Man Wilson asked, "What was that you were singing about a fish?" I told him the story that Barge had told me about a tall old fish getting married to a frog. The frog leapt away because the fish didn't golf. After years the fish came back, on a foggy day, and had learned to swing the club with his tail and putt with his fins. The frog began to cry with joy. Eventually the Fish won the US Open and the entire raucous crowd on the 18th hole sang, "Here comes the fish. The tall old fish." 'Ol Man Wilson didn't believe the US Open crowd would sing that song, but he believed the rest. He said he always thought fish would make good golfers. Then he leaned over to me and half-whispered, "NO LOST BALLS IN THE POND."

I put on a wig in memory of our founding fathers and powdered it up. I went out to play golf as a single and they paired me up with a couple of chaps from the state of Virginia. When they saw me on the tee with my wig, they opened their golf bags and pulled out two very similar wigs. I was surprised, but I went along with it. I felt a little like they had stolen "my thunder". I mean c'mon - wigs?! In your golf bag!? This started eating at me and on the fifteenth hole I told them to take off their wigs. They then claimed to be George Washington's Great, Great, Great Grandchildren. One said he had been using the famous wooden teeth as a ball-marker all the way around the course. After I hit my ball into the trees on sixteen, they followed me to look. One started chopping down the cherry tree. "Very Convincing," I thought. Feeling like quite an impostor, removed my wig and gave it to them. In the parking lot I heard them talking. Apparently they were no relation to George Washington. They went around tricking people out of their wigs on golf courses. I thought it was original.