I was reminded this morning of a time about 15 years ago when my wife and I went to play golf one day. As I remember, it was a nice autumn afternoon. The weather was perfect – not too hot not too cool. The breeze coming off Mobile Bay felt exhilarating. The course was beautiful; the greens weren’t too hard or soft and the fairways were perfect. What a great afternoon to be together.
Neither of us had been playing long so we were learning the sport as we played. Because I was playing with a girl, we got a cart. I’m told real men walk the course! After a bite to eat at the clubhouse, we made the turn and started the back nine. Hole after hole we played, enjoying our time together. That magical feeling you have when you’re in the right place with the one you love was everywhere.
We approached the 17th tee. Shirley led with a beautiful drive. I followed and we made our way to the fairway for our approach shots. After reaching the green, I walked back to the cart. While walking toward the electric beast, I noticed a peculiar glow from under the carriage. It was orange, with a hint of yellow. The smoke gave away the obvious problem – the cart was on fire! That’s right, sports fans. The battery tipped over, leaked and caught on fire. Even though it was a small electrical fire, the flames quickly grew. Like any young husband, I immediately sprang into action. Running toward the cart, with adrenaline pumping, I did what any man would have done – saved my clubs! You guessed it. After grabbing my bag, I told Shirley the cart was on fire and she might want to get out!
I know, I know, looking back it would have been smarter to get her out of the cart before grabbing my bag. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight. Needless to say, I don’t play golf any more. Now, we fish. I hope the boat never catches on fire!
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