Chip to Shore
by Chip Ahoy
Every four years we pretend to care about the America's Cup Yacht Race. Why, is it the name? Somehow we feel compelled to watch rich guys play with their toys. It can't be much of a sporting event when you consider a guy like Ted Turner could win on Courageous in 77. Remember, this is the same sap who married Jane Fonda and then got fired as the Braves manager after only one game. He owned the club.
There had to be something more to yachting than what meets the eye. To investigate this phenomenon, I went undercover and in costume to a local yacht club to find the truth. My attire was typical, a navy blue blazer adorned with a golden emblem. I wore a captain's hat, white slacks, dockers and of course, an ascot. To pull off my ruse, however, I had to learn their strange nautical language. Failure to do so would blow my cover and forever label me a landlubber.
Study complete, "her stern pointed heavenly skyward uplifting her aft into a shapely wake", I set out to unlock the secrets of the sea. At the MHPYC I stowed away on a corner bar stool, sipped Salty Dogs, and listened to the tars as they come ashore each evening. It was a very eye opening experience. I learned, for example, that a portsider actually means something other than an aging, soft tossing lefty from the bullpen. As I became more accepted by the membership, I began to ask the hard hitting questions of a seasoned journalist. Does Lipton Tea still have a photo of the yacht that lost eight times on its box? What ever happened to Dennis Conner, the first American to lose? Did he get the Jimmy Hoffa treatment?
Through my research, I discovered the truth to yachting and its appeal. When analyzed, it really isn't that much different than golf (I know you were all wondering how I was going to get this back to golf). It appears yachtsmen, sailors and boat enthusiasts have the same goals. It isn't their love for the ocean, scent of the sea air or the cool lingo, it is much simpler than that. "Hey skipper, my wife hates it! She never wants to go out there with me. I have four or five hours of carte blanche, plus the bar here is very yawl," said an unnamed source.
So there you have it. By the way, I am the new port captain, boat drinks on the starboard rail.
Author: Tim Andersen
Tis the Season
Tis the Season
by A Chip in Time
It wasn't until after a lackluster round at a nondescript Central Valley course that things got interesting. Bill Feeley suggested we all go to lunch at a place he used to go to when he was in the army. "It's just a few minutes and you guys won't believe it", he said.
An hour and three dirt roads later we arrived at a place that might have been in a John Wayne movie. It had a sagging balcony, wood slate sidewalks and swinging doors. From the back or the bus, Art Klein yelled, "how long were you in the calvary, Bill"?
The food's good but wait til you see the floor show, he said. The head shakes were almost audible as we filed off the bus into either a rustically quaint or a recently condemned saloon. When we entered, a silence fell over the room. It was not because we were outsiders with FootJoys, but because the room was empty. "Are you kidding me, asked Keith Gonsalves, even the bar has dust on it."
Just wait, answered Bill, you'll see. As if on queue, waiters and bartenders came out of the woodwork. Somewhere a band began to warm up. This dump came to life. Food was served and beer was poured and morale improved.
On stage, a tattered curtain pulled apart revealing an elderly lady in a peasant skirt and castanets. Feeley was again rained on with insults. "If a horse comes on stage, we are leaving you here, Bill", said Dave McNeily. "If she's a stripper, I'm going to puke", said Sid.
The music started and her hips began to move to a carnivale rhythm. Her castanets tapped out a frantic Latin beat. The faster they played, the faster she moved. She was transformed in the music, lost in a personal fountain of youth.
When she was finished, the group was slack jawed and amazed. What just happened, we all wanted to know. "We were just reminded to complain less and enjoy the game more", said Pete Katsumis.
Welcome to Golf Season!
In Memory of Stephan Brmalj
Recently we lost member Steve Brmajl after a long illness.
He too, was an Elk with quite a story. Steve lived in Yugoslavia during the cold war. He was a grade school teacher and loved the work but hated what had happened to his country under Communist Rule. Steve was an avid bowler back then and as it turned out so was his friend. the captain of an Italian freighter. Steve stowed away on his ship and was placed in an Italian refugee camp. He was later sent to Canada. It was there where he began to work with heavy equipment and learned the trade that would become his life's work. He moved to South City in the early 70's.
Steve loved to play golf, fast. More than once, Steve was reminded that he couldn't hit his next shot until his first one stopped rolling. His golf vocabulary was colorful, original and memorable. He loved watching football at the member's bar. Occasionally during a 49er game, he would treat us to his language prowess.
He will be missed.
The Green Peel
The great unwashed public is probably unaware that April is national poetry month. As cultural liaison officer, I feel it is my duty to keep the membership informed and classy.
The Green Peel
by Chips All In
I sat hunched over, sipping tequila with lime,
pondering where my golf game went this time.
A man of my ability just couldn't shoot such a high score,
where was the justice, for god's sake, an eighty four.
The sharks began to circle with a zest and zeal,
they swam around me awaiting the green peel.
Half heartedly I paid them one and all,
the hacks, the baggers, the short and the tall.
I stared in my glass wondering, could it be,
I, no better than them, no, not me.
When did this happen, why wasn't I there,
where was my pro, and why doesn't he care?
My game deserted me, why wasn't I at my best,
my putter went south and my short game is a mess.
My swing hitches and stutters with a glitch and a flaw,
sometimes I hit a fade, no wait it's a draw.
I could pull my hair out or see a shrink,
I could practice and bring my game to the brink.
Why did this happen, a reason I can not think,
luckily there's always tomorrow, so I will order another drink.