Golf stuff, and what men do

There we were, last Sunday afternoon, plodding through the clover and tall grass in the parklike area between the new overlook where the old bridge used to be and the parking lot under the new bridge where the trail starts that skirts the area between the River Campus and the mighty Mississippi River.

Charlie Herbst, his son Travis and I were whacking Birdieballs from here to there whilst laying out the New Course for the Louis J. Lorimier Memorial World-Famous Downtown Golf Course, where, you may have heard, the first-ever second annual tournament will be held June 24, followed, of course, by the scrumptious all-you-can-eat catfish buffet near the gazebo in Courthouse Park.

I can't imagine how two grown men and a plucky lad could have had more fun playing a make-believe game.

Part of the fun was the magnificent view: the new bridge, the river, the marvelously preserved old buildings at the River Campus, the striking new buildings there, the champion beech tree.

I told some friends about standing under the beech tree, which approaches a religious experience, but they're all real golfers who wonder what's the big deal about a big tree on a golf course. If they play in the June 24 tournament, they'll find out, since several of the holes deliberately have trees right in front of the green.

Another part of the fun was watching the handful of visitors who came to walk the trail and to see the progress of the new overlook being built where the old bridge used to be. It's coming along nicely and will play an important role in the tournament. A couple of women got out of their car and saw us smashing grass with our 5-irons and stood and gaped for a few minutes, but they averted their eyes when we got close enough to say hello. Who wants to talk to crazy people armed with golf clubs?

Crazy or not, anyone who plays in the tournament, a fund-raiser for the Red House Interpretive Center, is going to have fun. I'll repeat my ironclad guarantee: If you sign up and don't have fun, I'll gladly refund your entry fee.

By the way, if you've ever played a course designed by Jack Nicklaus or Arnold Palmer, I can give you a pretty good idea of how you design a golf course. It's not all that hard. What you do is get a Birdieball, a 5-iron and pick a gorgeous Sunday afternoon ... .

---

I received a completely anonymous letter from Elaine L. (sorry, Elaine, but you put that return-address sticker right there on the envelope) wondering what men do.

She came to the right person.

I can officially and unequivocably verify that what we do is terribly important but equally difficult to describe in any detail whatsoever.

Elaine (may I call you Elaine?), you have asked a question that draws men to the brink of a dismal abyss, a question that might have been best left unasked. But the inquiry is out of the box now, so we have to deal with it.

According to Elaine, she multitasks just like all the women I know: cooking, cleaning, taking care of pets, washing dishes, doing laundry, shopping, getting the car serviced, paying bills.

Recently, Elaine's love of her life was laid up following surgery. Elaine assumed that, in addition to all her normal duties, she would take on part of his workload too.

So she asked him: "Just what is it you do?"

Alas, my dear readers, I know some of you have stepped onto this same treacherous patch of ice, and you have the bruises to prove it.

His answer: a blank stare.

That just won't do. I don't care how drugged up you are or how many stitches you have, no man should ever let his better half rely on her own imagination about what we really do. The right answer, of course, is easy: "I'd love to tell you, but it's really complicated."

Hey, it works with the TV remote.

R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.