A couple of weeks ago I was perusing my Facebook feed while bored at work and came across a story from one of the local news stations here about footgolf. The term piqued my curiosity so I clicked on the link. Basically, footgolf is golf with a soccer ball. And bigger holes. You in the back snickering, you’re a pervert. Sadly, there will likely be a lot of innuendo and juvenile laughter in this post.
Anyhow, I was intrigued. I like golf well enough, but haven’t played in a few years because it’s expensive as hell…and I lost my clubs in one of my many moves after Superbitch and I separated. I also grew up playing soccer and can kick a ball much better than I can hit a golf ball. I shared the link on Facebook and put out an open invite for anyone else who might wanna try it. Lo and behold, I got a few responses, but I was able to make plans with a fellow blogger! The irreverent GingerSnaap and I went to a local golf course this past Saturday night and had a good time laughing at each other’s feeble attempts to kick a soccer ball towards 18 gaping holes.
We met up and hit the links (so to speak). I went first and after some stretching and a couple of practice swings with my leg promptly kicked my first shot at a 45 degree angle to the left. Right into the woods. Shit, this is just like golf.
Except it’s not just like golf. Soccer balls are much bigger and easier to find in the woods than a golf ball, so I found it right away. Phew. It took a couple of holes (snicker), but I eventually found my groove and began kicking the ball well, like I knew I could. Meanwhile Ginger was having fun laughing at herself and her attempts to kick the ball. Frankly, I was laughing at her, too. She got the last laugh, though.
Karma’s a bitch.
The eighth hole has a water trap to the right of the tee. Those of you who know what that means are already laughing because you can probably see where this is going. To confirm your suspicions, I’ll go ahead and admit that when I teed off from the eighth hole the ball went of the side of my foot and towards the water. Frankly, had the land been level it might not have gone into the water, but since it was a very steep incline into the water, my ball went right in. Sigh…
In real golf, the ball sinks and can’t be retrieved. Also, in real golf I would just grab another ball out of my bag (ouch!) and drop it next to the pond and continue playing. Since this was footgolf, however, I had only one ball. And soccer balls float. Luckily. Unfortunately, the ball was pretty far away from the edge of the pond.
I went to the closest hole (really, I’m laughing every time I type that word) and grabbed the pole (how YOU doin’?) from it with the intention of using it to retrieve the ball. Unfortunately, the ball was too far in to reach it with the pole. (Insert “size matters” joke here.) So we began throwing rocks at the ball to try to push it towards the “shore.” I don’t know what it was with this pond, but the ball wouldn’t budge. We hit the ball a couple of times and next to it multiple times, but the waves barely nudged the ball. It just would not float any closer.
So I decided to man up, take my shoes off, and wade out into the nasty waters to fetch the ball. I made it a few feet out into the water, which was enough to tap the ball towards me with the pole I had borrowed from the green next to the pond. Luckily, Ginger had a towel in her purse she allowed me to use to wipe the mud and other gunk from the pond water off of my feet and legs.
Just as I was about to put my shoes and socks on, someone else kicked their ball into the water. So I went back into the muck and fetched that ball, too. I then sat back down on the hill to put my shoes and socks back on when my cell phone began to ring. I had put my phone in my back pocket so it wouldn’t bother me while I was kicking. I pulled it out of my pocket and checked the number. It was a local number, but one I didn’t recognize. I answered the phone with a confused, “Hellooooooo??”
“This a 911 emergency,” a masculine voice announced. “We received a call from this number.”
Shit. Why does this happen to me? “Um, I must have accidentally butt-dialed you.”
“So there’s no emergency?”
Anyone who knows me knows that I’m extremely sarcastic. What I almost said, and really wanted to say, was, “Oh, NOW you call? I already got my ball out of the fucking water!” I thought better of it, though, because I didn’t want to spend my Saturday night in jail. So I simply said, “No,” and ended the call while Ginger was rolling around in the grass laughing her ass off at me. I turned my phone off before placing it back in my pocket…
And that’s when one of the course rangers showed up and said, “Oh, you got it out?” Yeah, I did. Thanks for nothing.
We finished the rest of the holes (hehehehe) without incident. Well, incidents of that caliber, anyhow. There were many more shanks, jokes, and laughs when the unforgiving holes (ha!) cockblocked our attempts to sink our balls.
All in all, it was a fun night and I highly recommend footgolf to anyone who likes soccer and golf. Just make sure you bring a towel and turn off your phones…