Deb Shake

WYNDHAM CLARK SHOOTS A 60, THE ALL-TIME COURSE RECORD AT PEBBLE BEACH. HISTORY.

This weekend, I played a scramble at a very prestigious course. I won’t name names, but dozens of former and current professional golfers are members here and compete in these tournaments. As the anchor of my foursome, I spent a lot of time preparing for the tournament and took this annual event very seriously. I played great golf and carried my guys to a 57. We felt great heading into the clubhouse and immediately grabbed some ice-cold domestic beers to await the results. When the winning team was announced, to my shock and horror, it wasn’t “Nick Adams and his Alpha Bulls.” I turned around to see a foursome of thin, effeminate, beta males strolling towards the front of the room to collect their trophy. Their team captain was wearing a CCP-made Nike UCLA polo, with painted fingernails and a white hat with “Ally” written in rainbow colors. His ball marker was a recycled plastic disc with the BLM fist emblazoned on it. I was disgusted. I was confused. I was horrified. I sized up these betas and walked over to their bags to inspect the stiffness of their shafts. Not one stiff shaft could be found, and that’s when I knew I had been bamboozled. The game of golf and this prestigious club had been hoodwinked by a foursome of subservient beta cucks. I couldn’t stand for it anymore. I thrusted up from my seat and called BS. “There is just NO way these frail male feminists shot a 54. There’s just no way. Their shafts weren’t stiff, I’ve seen any of these guys at Hooters, and I know for a FACT, at least one of these blokes drives an electric car.” The room was in shock. A well-respected retired tour pro stood up and said, “I didn’t see this group play, but Mr. Adams is making some damn good points. The only way to settle this is with a sudden-death playoff.” I immediately agreed as a playoff hole on a golf course is the most masculine way to settle your differences short of a duel or a wrestling match. The beta team was stunned. They looked at each other with terror in their eyes but had no choice but to accept. We made our way out to the 18th tee box and teed off. Not one of their drives hit the fairway or traveled further than 200 yards. After seeing that, I waved off my masculine foursome partners. “Go get me another Yuengling. I’m going to manhandle these betas myself.” I said while I pulled out my 2 wood. I smoked my ball 275 yards off the deck with a nice 5-yard fade and watched it settle dead center of the fairway. After I stuck my approach shot to 19,” the other team picked up their balls from the rough, piled into their carts, and headed for the parking lot. After receiving a hero’s welcome back at the clubhouse, I saw one of the beta’s wives with her arms outstretched, offering me an ice-cold Yuengling. I accepted but told her I was embarrassed for her. I told her she should cut her losses while she still can. She agreed and then asked me a question I did NOT see coming. “Nick, can I call you Nick? What are you doing for the couples nine and dine scramble next week, Nick?” She said, blushing and looking down at her feet. “Sorry, babycakes, I don’t do nine-and-dines for two reasons. 1. Alpha males play 18 holes, at minimum. Period. 2. I don’t dine with females after a round of golf. I prefer the company of other masculine guys at Hooters. You’re stuck with that limp-wristed soyboy you married. You’re going to have to find someone else.” I told her if she wanted to thank me, she could load my clubs up in my car while I finished my beer. After a little celebratory horsing around with the boys, I got to my Jaguar to see my clubs cleaned and neatly loaded in the back. Just next to the bag, I spotted a small piece of paper with a phone number and a smiley face written on it. What can I say? An alpha male will always win.