Local publisher survives attack by golf ball

First off, I am sorry that the blog of Craig has been vacant recently. As many of you might know and a few might care, your Journal publisher is currently publishing the Journal along with the new e-zine, along with working a full time job at a local business.

So time has been a little tight and my blog has suffered. But with a little extra time on this SWELTERING Sunday morning (that was a little inside joke, but not funny enough to share), the blog returns, brought on in part by a frightening moment at the Fort Smith Classic on Saturday.

Edgar “Andy” (aka Coach Perdue) Perdue, Lyle Whitworth and I went to watch the action Saturday at Hardscrabble Country Club in Fort Smith.

Before getting into the frightening incident, I would like to point out again it was hot. Fortunately, there were refreshments available at several locations on the course, at least until the funds ran dry because the above-mentioned refreshments were a little on the pricey side.

Like many of our fellow spectators, we wanted to watch John Daly play a little golf. He made his appearance shortly before his tee time wearing a red shirt, multi-colored pants that if I was buried in would force me to come back and haunt my relatives over, and puffing on a cig.

We watched him play the first couple of holes and eventually made our way to a shaded area beside the sixth-hole.

Lyle was bravely walking the course (he is much younger, of course), while Andy and I sat and watched a few groups play through the par-5 hole. We noticed that most of the golfers went to the right side, which was smart since if you missed the green where we were sitting, the ball would roll down a slight incline and wind up in some dangerous territory.

Finally, Daly’s group made it to our hole. He hit a monster drive and his second shot came to our side of the green, missed the green, hit a mound just a few yards away, bounced a couple of times and came rolling toward me.

Argh, I thought, I am going to get hit by Daly’s ball (golf ball, actually)! Not really, but it sounded good. I was frozen as I wondered what to do! I slid my leg over just a bit and his golf ball hit me on the shin and landed under my chair.

Hmm, what shall I do, I actually thought. I had seen pro golfers reward fans with moolah before after their golf ball hit them. That would help pay for some of the overpriced refreshments! I stood up and limped around for a second to the amusement of the crowd surrounding me, not that it actually hit.

I am sure they were worried about my condition as the golf ball was traveling at turtle-speed when it ran into my shin. Actually, I think they were hoping Daly would reward me for getting hit by the ball and I would share my new riches by buying them overpriced refreshments. As if.

Andy moved his chair away and I looked to make sure the golf ball was not touching my chair and would move. It was clear so I moved my chair back as Daly and his caddy approached.

I looked forward to Daly asking if anybody had gotten hit while pulling out his wallet. But no! He pulled out a club as his caddy asked everybody to scoot back (including me!) Wait, I wanted to say, I got hit by his ball!

Instead, Daly chipped on to the green and ran the sucker clear to the other side. I looked for any kind of bruise or indention on my leg, but only saw sweaty leg hairs.

They walked away! I looked around to see if there was a television camera which might have recorded the scary event and would broadcast it on the news. But again, no. My noble act of bravery went unrecorded. I didn’t get cruddola. We moved on, only with my memory, and sweat accruing in places which are not comfortable. I was glad to repeat the story to whoever was willing to listen, however.

We watched for a couple of hours more, mainly in the shade and finally called it a day.