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Show M by Missy Votel Of course none of us was listen- dfings for old people, 2 least thats the opinion I formed when, at a trOdlS )? ing. We were too engrossed by his amazing ability to swing and talk while young and impression- never losing the enormous ash on the end of his dangling ciga- rette. able age, I was given a heavy, cumbersome bag and left to fend for myself in the muggy, s. v' Uh, Chet, Im I objected I mention it was usually at when he placed the club in my right hand. some ungodly hour of g ante Not anymore, he replied. morning? And so the day progressed from g Basically, it was glorified bad to worse. When we were finalunder the guise of a junior proly let loose on the course, we were gram. My parents had a reprieve for a followed by an old hag named few hours while we were under the supBlanche in a golf cart who counted posed tutelage of the resident pro. With even the whiffs. our every stroke gold chains and a tan that put George Hamilton to shame, Chet Cashman When we got to 10, usually somewhere couldnt have been better cast for the part around the marker, shed holler, if he had walked directly off the set of Pick up that ball and move to the green, and make it snappy. Youre slowing down Caddyshack. He would wander out onto the driving pfey-range, martini in hand, and attempt to Now 300 yards can seem like 300 miles to how not a kid. But we were so horrified shed run us explain to a bunch of to grip the club as if it were a baseball bat. down in cold blood and our bodies would t jungle of the local golf course. Did gnat-infest- left-hande- ed d, baby-sittin- - 50-ya- rd . 10-year-o- ; . ; lds ,, ' ' - ,W & '3- - K ! ' y vveXi' ,. ' ' 1,1 A April 21, 2000 - Cross Currents 5 |