RIVER CITY JOURNAL: GIVE A GOLFER A SUNNY FEBRUARY DAY AND STAND BACK, WAY BACK

Daffodils don't have reliable calendars, so they do what comes naturally. Golfers do what a golfer's got to do. Period.

Daffodils are a little deranged during sunny February days when the thermometer touches 70 degrees.

So are men who own golf clubs and bass boats.

I can't speak for fishermen. But I have considerable insight into golfers. The ones I know would have a hard time explaining themselves. Fortunately, the noble game of golf defies explanation, which lets most of us off the hook.

Just this week I was at a meeting where a preacher a minister of the Gospel was telling everyone about his day on the golf course. Golfers like to talk about their winter exploits. They know it's unnatural to be moseying down the fairway when the trees are brown and the zoysia is the color of New Mexican adobe.

The farther north you go, the worse it gets. A golfer in Minnesota turns into something just shy of a maniac if he gets out on a golf course in February. Fortunately, Minnesota winters rarely permit winter golfing, which cuts way down on the maniac population in general.

Anyway, the preacher was describing his euphoria over going to the golf course in February. He was quite pleased with himself, because there was no one else playing that day.

In some circles, this is what you call a clue.

If there is no one else on the golf course, it's because it's too miserable even for diehard golfers. And that, my friends, is very miserable.

The trap some golfers fall into is this: You go out on your patio when the sun is shining, and you say to yourself, "Man, I could play golf in this weather." What you haven't taken into account, however, is your house is blocking the wind, and the bricks on the patio are little solar collectors. In other words, your patio is pretty cozy.

Out on the golf course, the wind is whipping around looking for something anything to blow over. As far as the wind is concerned, a golfer or a water tower are both good targets. Makes no difference to the wind what falls down.

And that light jacket you put on while you were standing on the patio? You might as well be wearing a wet T-shirt out on the golf course.

I was keeping up with the preacher as he described his solitary golf outing right up to the point when he mentioned the temperature was only 34 degrees.

Two degrees above freezing!

In a gale!

Just what part of Sacred Scripture was the preacher thinking about when he tempted Satan with a five-iron?

Maybe that bit about "Go ye there and yell fore" was rolling around and around in his head. Or even "He maketh me to lie down on the greens." Who can explain, really, what any man who has heard the voice of God thinks about when he's by himself?

By the way, my daffodils are budding already. I noticed some Bradford pear trees are ready to pop. The white honeysuckle bush has already put out some blossoms. A bunch of sparrows have been fighting over one of the birdhouses hanging on the backyard fence. They think it's time for nest building already. The mourning doves are so mixed up they are doing mating dances under the bird feeder. They'll probably feel pretty silly if the snow forecast for tomorrow actually shows up.

Wild animals and daffodils, of course, can be forgiven for jumping to conclusions about mild winters.

To put it plainly, a daffodil doesn't have a brain.

As far as winter golfers go, you'll just have to draw your own conclusions.

R. Joe Sullivan (an occasional winter golfer) is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.