Whomping the Ball, from the vault...

Hey Mr. Ranger, Where’s Yogi?

The golf ranger on any given course typically oozes a persona, better or worse than the average bear, right, Boo-Boo? Mr. Ranger might be the time keeper from hell, relentlessly reminding ones group to keep up the pace or he may possess excellent people skills making it simply a joy to play the course. I’ve experienced both Jekyll and Hyde.

           A good starter sets the tone of the round ahead. Mr. Ranger, now the enforcer of the rules, does the checks and balances after you depart the first tee box.  So now we have Mr. Ranger making rounds as does the beverage wench.  Why not combine these jobs and call her the Rescue Ranger. She can cater to your needs and ensure you are in compliance with the rules, speed of play. Unfortunately, if she’s a hard body little co-ed, she’ll contribute to slower play because many whompers will make a purchase just to expel some testosterone, whether they actually need anything or not.

           As mentioned, Mr. Ranger’s main objective is to keep us moving. Quipping 15 minutes per hole as he passes, he encourages us to speed up play. Now, I almost always have at least one anal retentive player in my group, and sometimes two. Sorry, 15 minutes ain’t going to happen. We were instructed by Mister Ranger during a recent round to speed it up when the group behind us trailed us by at least 1 ½ holes. Mr. Ranger, I fear, sometimes just had to feel his oats. Oh yea, and what are you writing on that clipboard of yours?

           Becoming frustrated with slow play because of the group ahead of us, we corralled MR. Ranger, Sir, during his next drive by and complained. He stated he could do nothing because they were course members and always played slow. We rebutted, if things got any slower, we’d be an eight-some. There are exceptions to The Rules, the membership clause #3.2.1. The beverage wench reinforced our wear-it-on-our-sleeves aggravation on her next round stating, bless your hearts guys, you’re behind them. They hold up everyone. May I offer you an adult beverage to offset your stress?

           One of the nicer courses we have played, The Myrtle Beach National, Kings North has huge Big Ben clocks mounted on post at every tee box to help pace your round. Kind of like those signs stating You Are Here. Do they really work? Not without Mr. Ranger riding rough shot.

           During a round at Island Green Golf Course, Mr. Ranger, we remarked about the group playing ahead of us from the Blue tees being worse hackers than us and we were playing from the Whites. Our comments immediately triggered flash backs as he shared experiences rounds past. A previous Blue Man Crew hacked their way from one tee box to the next. Observing this phenomenon, Mr. Ranger intercepted them on the next Blue tees and abruptly explains the terms of their continued play.

           “If you can’t strike the ball any better than that off the blues, move up to the whites and you better be on the whites when I make my next round. If you suck there too then I moving you to the gold tees. Flounder there and the Reds are all that’s left and that will require a quick surgical procedure that I am both obligated and qualified to perform on each and every one of you. Now, please enjoy the course and have fun.”       

           Mr. Ranger approached, never gave an inch and forced both carts off the cart path to avoid a head on. Nodding he passed as if we were the lowest on the food chain. Guess what Mr. Ranger, we’re just paying customers. Why should we move out of your way? Cart path only apparently only applies to Mr. Texas Ranger, Sir, and we were forced to utilize the 90 degree rule. Hindsight, we had two carts to his one and should have played chicken with him. By the way, why didn’t you warn us about that twelve foot gator in the pond on that last par three?

           The rangers are always trying to get more of my money with these Par Three contest. Hit the green and double your money. Doubling your money interpreted; we’ll give you Monopoly money to purchase merchandise from the club house. No second mortgage required on any purchases. First, I haven’t hit a green all day unless you count that green townhouse on number twelve. My earnings wouldn’t equate to the purchase of a bag of log tees. Hope you just give me a sleeve of balls and let’s call it even?

           Why aren’t there any rangers on a Par Three golf course? Speed is a bigger deal because you’re walking most of these. And believe me, some folks are not built right to walk nine holes carrying their clubs or pulling them. I can almost hear him yelling, “Hey fat boy, you’re going to have to pick up that pace or we’ll going to have to restrict you to the putting green!”

           Driving ranges; where are the Rangers. What’s a range without a ranger? What would life be with Mr. Ranger riding the range? “If you can’t hit the ball further than ten feet, you’re forfeiting that bucket to the next paying customer. Hit one more condo and you’re banded for life, buck-a-roo.  No, you can’t retrieve those balls. Tee pad only! 90 degree rule, do not, I repeat, do not hit your fellow practicing mate.”

           Mr. Ranger, there’s a Jelly Stone Park Resort out there somewhere screaming your name. And I heard him exclaim as he made his rounds, “Sorry, no pick-a-nic baskets allowed on the course, slows down the play”.