Like Haley’s Comet or Tom Francis sinking a three-footer, there are just some things that you don’t see every day. While it’s been four years since the legend of E-Z-Go was born, to those who witnessed it still seems like just yesterday.
It was a crisp Saturday in September, with the range packed full of golfers earnestly pounding balls in fervent preparation for their morning round. The tees were stationed on the middle tier of the practice range, affording easy access between the cart parking area and the adjacent range.
Brimming with bullshit and bravado, Scott Wenning sauntered onto the practice tee, brandishing a new TaylorMade Burner driver for all to see. Removing the head cover with a flourish, the black titanium head gleamed like polished granite in the bright morning sunshine. A hush fell over the range as Wenning took a few hearty practice swings, and put his first ball onto a tee.
Standing nearby, Bob Dray stuffed head covers in both ears, fearful that the thunderous metallic boom soon to be emitted by this terrifying weapon would shatter his ancient eardrums. Wenning addressed his ball, picked a target, gave the club a waggle, and sent a drive hurtling toward the top of the fence at the end of the range (OK. Maybe it was the blue 225 flag).
As one frozen rope after another screamed off Wenning’s new Burner, every golfer assembled was rendered speechless at this awesome display of power and accuracy (OK, maybe not much power. Or accuracy.). His practice concluded, Wenning pronounced his clinic over, signed a few quick autographs, and slung his golf bag over his shoulder as he walked up the incline to his cart. With a wave of the hand and a boisterous “OK, WHO’S PLAYING FOR SECOND TODAY?” he turned and tossed the golf bag into the passenger seat of the cart, which is when all hell proceeded to break loose.
The cart suddenly lurched forward, careening down the slope toward the practicing golfers. Apparently, when Wenning threw his golf bag into the cart, the kick-stand deployed against the accelerator, with the head of his new driver jammed against the seat, putting the cart in motion. Making a furtive and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to jump into the now runaway cart before it sped away, Wenning had only time to scream “LOOK OUT!!” as Charles Hardy and Les Lewis nimbly jumped aside, barely avoiding becoming over-sized bugs on the cart windshield.
Meanwhile, in his haste to arrest his now rider-less electric horse, Wenning kicked one of the large terra cotta flower pots, nearly breaking a toe in the process. Limping down the slope after the cart, he then proceeded to perform an impromptu bit of slapstick comedy worthy of Laurel & Hardy, skating furiously atop several dozen golf balls that he suddenly found under foot, which were disgorged from a practice ball bag that had been run over by the cart. Some claim to have pissed their pants at the site, but not all such claims could later be substantiated.
With the white flag now demolished, the cart continued its terrifying transit down the left side of the range, where it first appeared that it would go left of the fence, down the adjacent hill, into the concrete culvert, through the Bank of America drive-in teller line, across O’Connor Boulevard, and into the lobby of the Le Peep restaurant, where 27 unsuspecting Irving residents were enjoying their breakfast on an otherwise quiet Saturday morning. Fortunately for the cart (as well as the member that would have been expected to pay for its replacement), it caught the slope on the left side of the range, and turned hard right toward the left panel of the driving range netting.
At a speed clocked at more than 70 MPH (OK, maybe it was only 20), the cart rammed directly into the net, the kickstand on the bag remaining inexplicably jammed to the accelerator. As a dozen more golfers pissed their pants and collapsed in disbelief, the cart’s engine began to scream, tires spinning wildly in the dirt while coulds of smoke billowed from the engine.
Having composed himself after his near-death experience, Les quickly jumped into a nearby cart, pulling Wenning in beside him. The two of them sped off down the range to rescue the runaway buggy, which by now had become further impaled in the netting like a wayward dolphin caught in a tuna net. Following Les’s orders, Wenning leaned out of the cart and yelled “CEASE FIRE!” to all those present on the range, so as to prevent the dashing duo from becoming the unintended targets of a Titleist NXT hailstorm.
Upon reaching the cart, Lester jumped out and pulled the driver cover away from the seat, whereupon the wheels stopped spinning and the smoke soon cleared. As their eyes met, the two friends shook hands and congratulated each other on their bravery and a job well-done. Hopping into their carts, they proceeded to drive back toward the practice range, soaking in the cheers of their fellow golfers and the site of hundreds of golf caps (OK, maybe three) being thrown into the air in unbridled jubilation. Yes, it was clear to all assembled that something truly special had occurred this day at LCCC, something that would forever live in the rich history and folklore of our club.
After all the excitement had died down and the golfers had changed into dry trousers, they repaired to the first tee for the start of their rounds. It was but 20 minutes later as Wenning prepared for his turn on the tee, Charles snickered “OK, E-Z-Go. You’re on the box.” More laughter and pants-pissing ensued, some of which continues to this very day....
In the immortal words of the late Paul Harvey, now you know the rest of the story. For more golf cart hijinks and adventures, please see the following video provided courtesy of Tom Wagner.
No comments:
Post a Comment