Beware The Dog House!

With one week to go before Christmas, it's time to get your game faces on and head to the mall for those last-minute gifts for your wife, girlfriend, or both. While nothing says "Merry Christmas!" quite like a new driver or a 60-degree wedge, Gil Hollander warns that there are severe consequences for those choosing badly, and recommends visiting your nearest Zales location for some pre-gift counseling.

Be advised, some may find the following video disturbing....

Come And Get It!

The culinary arts can be mystical ones, indeed, with chefs and gourmands forever experimenting with new forms of cuisine designed to appeal to varied and often finicky palates. LCCC is no exception, where Chef Nicole Slaw travels to the far corners of the earth (aka, the Tom Thumb in Irving) to create a menu that is tasty, innovative and, as of late, a bit provocative.

"Out go the lights...."

Upon learning the news that our own Mr. Tee had failed his recent Mattress Dancing Stress Test, and fearing that the unexpected ineffectiveness of his pre-MDST training for Tee might damage his reputation as "The White Wilt Chamberlain", Tim Unverzagt reached out to Chef Slaw with a new idea for helping Tee get a little lead back in the old pencil, while also adding some pizazz to the menu in the 19th Hole.

"Look, just because I get to look at porn at work doesn't mean everybody can," offered Unverzagt. "However, I find that there are many ways one can obtain stimulation in the work place, sometimes without anyone else even knowing about it. That's when I got the idea to talk with Chef about adding pornbread to the menu."



"Hmmm? Hmmm?"

By applying a creative twist to some 19th Hole favorites, Chef Slaw is pleased to announce the addition of two new items, Funbag Popovers (modeled at left by Chris Weinzirl) and Mama's Johnsonberry Muffins (below right), which Unverzagt believes can help Tee subliminally focus on how to take care of business at night even while he's on the job each day.

"Oh my," gasped Unverzagt softly as he caressed a pair of fresh, buttered popovers, using his other hand to discretely adjust the front of his trousers. "If ogling these muffins all day can help Tee get his motor running again, who the hell cares how they taste? All I know is that if I spend any more time alone with these babies, I'm going to need a cigarette."

Finally, Chef Slaw reports that the hot Johnsonberry Muffins have also become quite a popular staple in the Ladies' Locker Room. "The WGA is going to put them on the menu at the awards banquet for their fall Member-Member, if you'll pardon the oxymoron. I'm doing my best to keep up with the demand."

When The Time Is Right, He'll Be Ready



"Goo One!"

For those of you who've yet to see it with your own eyes, The Hosel Rocket is pleased to confirm that our very own Mr. Tee is back on the scene at LCCC after successfully completing convalescence from his recent heart attack and surgery.

Not only has the affable fixture of our 19th Hole not lost a step, he seems to have gained a few, and has been observed zipping around the 19th Hole at a rate that would put The Roadrunner to shame. Tee reports that he's feeling great, getting stronger every day, and has only one remaining post-operative milestone to clear, his MDST (mattress dancing stress test).

According to Tee, his MDST is scheduled for August 20, where he promises there will plenty of "boom, boom boom!" in store for Mrs. Tee. Leaving nothing to chance as the big day approaches, Tee has retained the services of Tim Unverzagt (aka, "The White Wilt Chamberlain") to help him get ready to ace his MDST.

"As it's unusual for me to go more than 20 minutes without sex, imagine how this little guy feels having to wait 20 days," said the legendary Las Colinas lothario, who also serves as professor emeritus at the Austin Powers School of Swordsmanship in London.

While Unverzagt wouldn't reveal his training methods ("A good magician never reveals his secrets. Just ask that guy who says he's the best putter in our club, then watch him putt..."), he's assured Tee that come August 20th, there will be plenty of lead in his #2 pencil.

"When I'm through with him, he'll be ready to lay enough pipe to replace our entire golf course irrigation system. And, if I was Mrs. Tee, I might consider investing in good a neck brace, or perhaps a softer headboard."

Ever appreciative for the various collections taken up by our members that provided financial assistance to his family during his time out of work, Tee reports that he's gradually easing back to full-time status in the 19th Hole.  When not at work, he can be found on his new yacht on Lake Grapevine, where Unverzagt (accompanied by a crew of Hooters girls and several Barry White CD's) is conducting his pre-August 20 training sessions.

"BAMBI! MORE OYSTERS! WE NEED MORE OYSTERS!!"

Swizzle Stick

Less than a week after his collapse at the 2012 Open Championship, where he bogied the last four holes to hand the tournament to Ernie Els, Adam Scott sat down with The Hosel Rocket to discuss the real story of what went wrong on Sunday at Royal Lytham & St. Anne's.

"What can I say, mate? It was the bloody flat stick that let me down," said the young Aussie. "My trusty Scotty Cameron long putter was stolen from my bag after Round 3. While I thought I was able to find an identical replacement from an on-line website, it turned out to be anything but identical."



The website in question, T-Bay, is run out of the locker of LCCC member Tom Francis, long recognized by himself as the Best Putter in Las Colinas Country Club (BPILCCC). Upon receiving the on-line inquiry last Saturday afternoon from Scott's agent, Francis spent hours prowling the aisles of his locker for a putter that would match Scott's stolen Scotty Cameron BIG SUR Long model.

Sure enough, after sorting through several hundred putters in his personal inventory, Francis was successful in finding an identical Cameron putter that had recently been returned on consignment from Preston Oliver, who'd apparently been using the club to stir barrels of grain alcohol punch at a series of parties near the campus of TCU.

Upon returning the putter, a contrite Mr. Oliver disclosed that the shaft of the club had been bent when it was accidentally slammed in a car door, which occurred during a pre-dawn getaway from the Chi Omega sorority house one recent morning.

As a result, the consigned Cameron now sported a three-degree closed face. Upon receiving Scott's order, Francis opted not to correct the altered club, feeling that the closed face might actually help his new client overcome a tendency to push his putts right of the hole, especially under pressure.

Depsite what he thought was a distinct odor of alcohol coming from the grips of the putter, Francis nevertheless deemed the club ready for shipment. After penning a short motivational note ("Dear Adam: Keep that head still! Yours in Golf, Tommy Awesome"), Francis boxed up the putter and sent it COD to Scott's hotel, where it arrived early on the morning of the final round. In light of Scott's stunning collapse on the inward four holes, Francis now wishes he'd gone full disclosure on the altered condition of the club.

"Hey, the guy is playing for the oldest trophy in all of golf, and he's going to have to make all sorts of putts that would normally be gimme's for me. Those four-footers can be tough, and I didn't think he needed to have all that extra information running around in his head that might cause him to lose focus. In hindsight, I guess I probably should have told him what Preston had done to the putter, or at least removed the fruit from the grip."

In the most stunning postscript to a major championship since it was learned that Tiger Woods spent the hours before his final round collapse in the 2009 PGA Championship cavorting with three IHOP waitresses at a Holiday Inn Express in Chaska, MN, a sullen Scott explained how it all slipped away from him during that final round at Royal Lytham & St. Anne's.

"Just before I teed off, I detected a strong odor of alcohol from my golf bag,  but thought it was just Stevie burning off a hangover," offered Scott in reference to his caddy, Steve Williams. "I missed my putt on #1 for a bogey, and thought nothing of it, as I still had a four-shot lead."

"However, as the round went on, I guess the alcohol vapors began to make me a little unsteady, and I kept missing every putt left. By the time we got to #15, I was doing everything I could to stay steady over the ball, but obviously it didn't work."

"It wasn't until I'd completed my round that Stevie noticed that the shaft of the T-Bay putter was bent, and that there was also a lime wedge and a tiny bamboo umbrella sticking out of the top of the grip. It may have affected my stroke a bit."

The problem with his equipment discovered too late, and the coveted claret jug having slipped from his grasp, a disconsolate Scott could only offer a solemn caveat emptor to those golfers considering a purchase from T-Bay. 

"Best putter in his club? If so, I'd suspect his fellow members all have Tourettes Syndrome, " lamented Scott.

As for Francis, the erstwhile entrepreneur could only shrug his shoulders and say "All sales are final. But I've got a whole aisle full of belly putters that I'd gladly sell to him on trade."

The Next Best Thing to Awesome!

TRUMBULL, CT - Fresh off last week's stunning victory at The Olympic Club, 2012 U.S. Open winner Webb Simpson took time off during this week's Traveler's Championship to announce that he's signed a lucrative endorsement deal with a heretofore unknown golf apparel company based in Texas.

"You win the US Open, and it's amazing the things that start to come your way," offered a humble Simpson. "Though the call from President Obama was nice, as was the offer to appear on Letterman, when I received that collect call from Carrollton, it was like my whole life had changed."

In an exclusive interview obtained by Hosel Rocket roving reporter, Bill Crowley, Simpson confirmed that he's signed a five-year deal to become the face of Under Awesome, an innovative new line of performance golf apparel developed by Tom Francis. "People kept telling me how awesome I was last week, and it just kind of made sense," mused the new Open champion.

"I thought to myself, why saddle up with those poseurs at Puma like Ricky Fowler did, or like Matt Miller with Travis Mathew when I can wear the real thing? Plus, Tom threw in some neat refrigerator magnets from his investment management firm, and that more or less sealed the deal for me. I feel awesome already, and I haven't even put the stuff on!"

Since today's announcement, the buzz from from the golf world has been incessant, with Golf Channel's Kelly Tillman, golf personality David Feherty, and the omnipresent Jim Nance all working feverishly to obtain an interview from the budding Texas clothing magnet. In a modest effort to deflect attention away from himself and toward his new client, Francis would only offer the following comments to THR.

"They don't call me Tommy Awesome for just any reason, and I thought that my own clothing line made perfect sense for the way I play the game. Like I told my new buddy, Webb, if you can't be totally awesome like me, wearing Under Awesome is the next best thing."

Look for Under Awesome apparel in Wal-Mart, Costco, and finer truck stops everywhere.

The Spoonshank Redemption: A Play in Two Acts

Reprinted by polular demand...
At long last, it's time for the annual LCCC La Buena Bola member-guest golf tournament, where 72 two-man teams will be locked in mortal combat beginning on Wednesday afternoon. Though the tournament itself lasts but three days, the story lines generated each year at "The Bola" are passed on from barstool to barstool, and often from generation to generation. Here is one such story featuring my brother, Chris (a.k.a., The Spoon).

Act One: The Collapse
In June 2008, Spoon arrived in Dallas for his very first Buena Bola. He pronounced his game to be fit as a fiddle - long and straight with the driver, precise with his irons, and deadly around the greens. The Brothers Wenning were going to be the team to beat, he crowed, while chest-bumping me across the baggage claim area at DFW.

After an enjoyable practice round with Spoon and my son, we showered, changed, and repaired to the ballroom for tournament registration. As I prepared to fetch cocktails, Spoon informed me that in an effort to improve both his game and his liver, he'd recently sworn off his beloved Grey Goose vodka (aka, the "Devil Juice"). What he didn't inform me was that he'd apparently sworn off golf as well.

In stark contradiction to the game he described at DFW, Spoon proceeded to play like a man possessed. By demons. Over the next three days, he hooked, sliced, thinned, chunked, skulled, and bladed his ball all over the course, and could not have made a single putt if the cup had been the size of a laundry basket. Though we had a grand time as we always do when we play together, Team Wenning fell down the leader board faster than a greased manhole cover, leaving a trail of crumpled Bud Light cans, cigar butts, and conceded putts in our wake.

Though we finished last in our flight, we finished first in beers consumed. He begged me for a chance at redemption, promising me he would bring his game next time if I would only invite him back.

Act Two: The Redemption
Said invitation having been tendered, Spoon arrived at DFW for the 2009 Bola determined to atone for the train wreck of a performance the prior year. As a result of monsoon-like conditions that washed out Day 1 of the event, the format was shortened to a two-day, 36-hole best ball tournament.

To the relief of the tournament committee and the 64 teams of combatants, Friday dawned hot, clear, and bright. After consuming a heart-healthy breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausage, bacon, biscuits and gravy, and bacon, Spoon stepped to the #10 tee and proceeded to rip his drive directly down the center of the fairway - the #1 fairway. After dumping his third shot into a greenside bunker, he deftly bladed his bunker shot across the green into the opposite trap, and repeated the feat again in returning the ball to the original trap before pocketing the ball. Fortunately, his partner bailed him out with a nice sandy to save par.

On the next hole, the tough uphill par 3 11th, Spoon's handicap afforded him a stroke to work with as he vowed to get the team into red numbers. He stepped confidently up to the tee box, proclaiming a cut shot with a hybrid to be the ideal play to the sloped, heavily bunkered green. Indeed, it would have been the perfect shot, if only Joe Finger (the course architect) had opted to place the green in the cul-de-sac of the adjacent neighborhood, which is where Spoon's ball landed, knocking a child off her bicycle, hitting a Verizon FIOS technician in the groin, and leaving a small dent in a Honda Civic. Out of the hole again, his older brother picked up the team again with a nice up-and-down out of the rough to save par. At that point, Spoon discovered two things:

1. An endless supply of Bud Light.
2. His golf swing.

With the former acting as some form of magical swing lubricant, and the latter returning to a state of technical perfection not seen since the 1981 St. Mark's Club Championship, Spoon picked up both his game and his partner, allowing Team Wenning to finish the first round at a net 65, good enough for 2nd place in our flight. In an effort to be razor sharp for the final round, the team decided to make it an early night, imposing a curfew while opting for a light dinner of red wine, Bud Light, onion rings, BBQ pork sandwiches, and vanilla ice cream. Vowing to get a good night's sleep, Spoon was true to his word, passing out on the couch at 10:00 PM.

Spoon had his game face on the next day, and arrived at the course with steady nerves, a steely resolve, and a case of the runs (brought about by the onion rings). After a harrowing trip to the men's room and another heart-healthy breakfast (during which time I reminded him that gravy was not a beverage), we headed to the first tee on a hot, humid day. Alas, our first five holes appeared to be an unfortunate reprise of last year's final round, where we folded like a cheap beach chair under Charles Barkley. Starting off on #10, Spoon was either in the water or OB on four out of the first five holes, while my game steadily sunk to the level of my playing partner. We made the turn at +2, four shots worse than the previous day, knowing that we would need to go low on the last nine holes to have any chance of winning our flight.

After a tepid bogey on #1, the team gradually caught fire, with my birdie on #4 getting us back to E/+2, a net birdie for me on #5 to get us to -1/+1, Spoon's birdie on #7 getting us to -2/E, and a net birdie for me on #8 getting us to -3/-1. As we stepped to the tee on the 9th and final hole of the tournament, both of us getting a stroke, we knew we had to make par/net birdie to have any chance of finishing in the money for our flight.

After finding the fairway with our drives, my approach shot came to rest 15 feet left of the flag, while Spoon's came up short on the right front edge of the green some 50 feet from the cup. Telling him to lag it close for par so I could take a run at birdie, Spoon did one better. He holed it for a birdie/net eagle, a putt that might have been slightly tougher than the one Happy Gilmore sank to defeat Shooter McGavin to win the Gold Jacket. Tending the pin, I watched in delight as the ball dove into the cup with such force that it swirled around the bottom of the jar like a turd going down a toilet. The jubilation that ensued was no less unbridled than when Justin Leonard sunk his snake at The Country Club to win the Ryder Cup for the USA in 1999.

We repaired to the 19th hole where the Goose finally came out, accompanied by some nice Ruby Red grapefruit juice. As we savored our cocktails, our back-nine charge, and Spoon's historic putt, we waited in air conditioned comfort for the first-round leaders to come into the clubhouse, while Spoon accommodated numerous interview requests from the club staff, our fellow combatants, and Jim Nance. As it turned out, the leaders (the Brothers Montgomery), had gone high for the day, leaving both teams in a dead heat for first place in our flight at a combined 133.

Per tournament rules, a scorecard playoff system was invoked to break the tie, and my par on the #1 handicap hole (#5) proved to be the difference. We were declared the champions of our flight, finishing second overall in the field of 64. My brother bellowed in joy at having redeemed himself, nearly breaking Mr. Tee's wrist with a wicked high-five. With visions of dollars dancing in my head, I proceeded to dance on a chair in celebration, feeling that the table was a bit too unsteady for such a jig given the effects of heat, sun, beer, and Goose.

We headed home to prepare for the big victory dinner-dance, cocktails in hand, cigars blazing from our mouths, and Springsteen blasting from the iPod. After a quick swim, shower, and change of clothes, and aided by our designated driver (my wife), we returned to the club for a wonderful evening, collecting both our money and our trophies. Chris reverted back to Margaritas (deftly deflecting the tip of the little bamboo umbrella with his glasses with each sip), while I enjoyed a small flock of Geese in celebration of our back nine charge, Spoon's historic putt, and our bulging wallets.

An unforgettable week...

"What's He Got, Rossy?" "He's Got No Shot, Kenny"

When the pin is back left, the wind is swirling, and your ass is puckered up tighter than a snare drum, selecting the right club to hit on #17 can be a most daunting proposition. As David Oliver demonstrates below, selecting the right club for one's second shot can be even more daunting, with a litany of swing thoughts that can run through one's head:

• Will the curb come into play on my follow-through, causing the ball to hit me in the nuts?
• Will the bark embedded in the dimples of the golf ball affect its flight to the hole?
• Will I be assessed for the damage I caused to the cart when I hit it with my tee shot, knocking the roof off of its moorings?
• I know one of these assholes has their camera phone out, and I'll probably see it on The Hosel Rocket.