The Chronicles of Foster Foskin’s Adventures in Thailand #8
Golf is a game fer swingers, or so I'm told
Yer follow the ball wherever it goes
But sometimes the rough is only fer the bold
Specially when yer caddy says that she knows
A place in the bushes, hidden from all…
Yer playin' mate bangs on, all unaware
Yer thrashin' the bushes, where's that ball?
An' yer look around and she's standin' there…bucknakedbare
Now, no one ever said I was slow on the uptake
When a shiela's standin' there beggin for a repast
So I pulls out me club and she says "That's great!"
And she steps up to the tee, but we gotta be fast
Coz ol' Bluey's stridin' away up on the fairway
Well, I wasn't doin' too bad meself, if yer know what I mean
So she finds me ball, and then drops another into play
And later we hops out of the bushes and head for the green
There's games of golf, and there's the Thailand version
And I tell yer what mates, the truth to be told
Even if yer a bloody golfing virgin
No matter how yer play yer'll score the gold
Now, who cares what the score is at the end of the round?
As long as the caddies are hot, and the beer is real cold
And yer can get lost in the rough, not so easily found
While yer best hole-in-one can never be told
If yer've heard of Australia, yer've heard of Aussie Rules. Now that is a footbal game fer real men. Yer can tell easy because they can't get shirts with big enough sleeves on them, so they have ter wear them sleeveless kind instead.
They look real manly in their dinky shorts as they fly all over the sky chasin' that ball. But it's a bit tough to put golfers in the same he-man category. Not that I'd ever played the game before. But the sight of those grown men chasin' a ball down a long grassy stretch with no tacklin' goin' on and then ridin' in a dinky electric cart? Well, that didn't look like a real strenuous game ter me. Shows how much I knew about playin' golf in Thailand.
So, when me old mate Bluey told me he wanted to give this here golf a go, I thought why not? I figured we were both a pair of brand new duffers at the game, so we wouldn't have ter worry about getting' a good score, would we?
But wearin' the proper clobber is a bit of a problem. It's not like yer throw on a pair of stubby shorts and a blue singlet. Nah! Yer've got to dress up ter the nines ter play this game.
Bluey and me arrived at the Phoenix golf course a bit late in the day. Well, we figured that all the other blokes would have played their games, so we'd have the place to ourselves and no one ter laugh at us. Good thinkin' that. We turned up at the clubhouse and looked around. We spotted a Pro Shop with all the gear we needed fer a game, so we turned in there first and spoke to this real beaut lookin' sheila behind the counter.
"G'day love. Me and me mate 'ere would like to play a round of golf. Are we too late fer a bit of fun?" (Master of the pick up line, that's yer old mate Foster)
She looked up from her papaya salad, Som Tum I think they call it, and yer would have thought me and Bluey were two axe murderers lookin' fer love. She looked us up and down with a bit of a sneer and says, "You can't wear jeans onto the course, sir."
I looked down, and sure enough I was dressed in me very best jeans. They looked alright to me, but I guess golfers are a bit picky. So I asked if I could just play in me boxer shorts instead. I pointed out it was getting late in the day at nearly 4 o'clock and we'd come all this way to play a quick round.
Dunno why she looked horrified. Me old girlfriend picked out this beaut pair of boxers with red hearts all over them about ten years ago. But the shiela wouldn't have it. She came out from behind the counter and showed me a rack of them long-short shorts and asked me to buy a pair. And while she was at it she suggested I buy some long socks a golfing shirt, and one glove too.
One glove? I looked at her and pointed to both me arms. "Yer see that love? I've got two bloody arms. Why only the one glove?"
"Oh no sir, you only need one glove to play golf."
Ok, I figured I could end up lookin' a bit of a nonce, but why not? It's not every day yer takes up a gentleman's sport, is it? It was a bit of a puzzle, because I'd seen these jokers holdin' the stick with both hands. But if she said yer only need one glove, who was I ter argue?
I grabbed a pair of size 44 khaki shorts, and the sheila handed me a pair of argyle socks in a florid red plaid. Then I checked the shirt rack. Jeez! They came in all the shades of the rainbow. I guess these golfers don't want to get lost out there, so they wear clothes that are real easy to spot from a mile away.
I picked out the only khaki shirt with umpteen dozen pockets and tried it on. I turned to ask Bluey fer his opinion. Crikey! The silly bugger was chompin' into a meat pie he'd bought back in Pattaya. The bloke never stops eatin', except when he's drinkin' or studyin' anatomy….and even then….
"Hey Bluey, why don't you put that pie away, mate?" I said, and pointed to my ample belly. "Yer wouldn't want to end up lookin' like this, would yer?"
Bluey ran an eye over me ample form, and then said, "Strewth mate! I wouldn't ever buy a shirt like that ter look like you."
The cheeky bugger! Talk about grabbin' the wrong end of the stick. But that's why Bluey and me have been mates all these years. Yer never know what he's gonna come up with next.
Anyway, we finally got kitted out, and paid for a round of just 9 holes. I couldn't see us staggering around 18 holes. Besides, this late in the afternoon we didn't want to end up trying ter play our way around in the dark.
So we goes to the changin' rooms, get all togged up and then step out ter start the game. But not before choosin' a couple of caddies. Well, that's not quite right. We didn't have much choice coz they were the last two left. Both of them was wrapped up so much yer could only see their faces. One was short with a really black face. The other one was a bit taller and on the rotund side. Bluey and me tossed fer them, and I won the short one. I didn't reckon she had the strength to drag the bag of sticks we'd rented, but she just slung them on the back of the golf cart and tied them up snug as yer please.
Well, we took off in our buggies with our girls doin' the drivin' and we set up at the first tee. We opened a couple of coldies from the Esky, and slurped them down while the girls explained what we had to do. These sheilas didn't talk much English, but it was obvious they knew the game, so we relaxed and let them guide us.
Now, I reckon Bluey was havin' a go at me when he told me he'd never played golf before. His sheila showed him how to hold the club. He scrunched down, did a bit of a bum wag, swung the club back and then whacked that bloody ball so far I lost sight of it.
Both the sheilas clapped in delight, while I scowled. This was not goin' ter be easy.
My caddie, her name was Oy, plugged the tee stick into the ground, balanced the ball on top, and stepped back with a big grin. "You hit ball now Khun Foster."
Crikey. I dunno about you, but I get nervous when a sheila grins like that. But I stepped up to the tee, scrunched down like I'd seen Bluey do, wagged me bum a few times and then let rip with a super swing.
The ball took off all of ten feet and rolled to a stop. I looked at the girls, they looked at me, and we all burst out laughing. Strewth, what else could yer do with such a miserable performance?
Oy handed me a new stick and pointed out a little flag way off in the distance. "You hit ball down there."
"Yeah, right. Let's see what I can do then." I llined up the ball, gave it another big swing, and dribbled the bloody thing another ten feet. This was going to be a long game.
By now, Bluey was way orf in the distance with his caddy, so I says to Oy. "The heck with this love, I think I'll just carry the ball down there and catch up with me mate. We wouldn't want ter be out here all night alone like this would we?" asked I, givin' her a suggestive grin.
To which she smiles coyly and replies, "I not mind Mr Foster. You velly handsome man."
Cripes! Another one. These Thai sheilas are all bloody myopic, aren't they? Well, this was shapin' up to be a bit more interestin' I thought to meself as we jumped in the cart. On the way I asked her about the possibility of a little game in the rough. She smiled a big white-toothed smile and said that she loved playin' in the rough even more than on the fairway. That grin was a dead giveaway. With pearly whites like that yer'd never lose her at night as long as she kept grinning. Only one way to ensure that with a woman, isn't there? I looked around. There wasn't another soul around at this time of day, so I thought, why not?
I yelled out to Bluey, who by now was nearin' the green. "I've lost me ball mate. I'll have ter take some time to look around in the rough. You keep playin' on and I'll catch up ter ya."
He waved and yelled out that he was okay with that. Oy and me jumped out of the cart and trooped into a copse of trees nearby.
Ten minutes later I staggered out onto the fairway again. Now, before yer start goin' on about a mere ten minutes, just remember one thing, ok? I'm not into long-term relationships. Ten minutes is enough fer any red-blooded, beer swiggin' Aussie male. I stepped out of them trees as happy as Larry. I daresay Oy was too, because she looked like she'd swallowed the bloody cat. Well, more like a friendly snake, anyway.
We jumped into the cart and hared off after Bluey. We stopped along the way to play the ball into the first hole. I bet it looked very convincing from where Bluey was halfway to the second hole. Oy drove us up next to Bluey and I swung out of the cart, nonchalantly droppin' me ball just behind me.
"Yer made it through the first hole then did yer mate?" Bluey asked. If only he knew! But I just give him a big shit-eatin' grin and said, "Yeah, this game is a pushover once yer get the hang of it."
I walked up to me ball and Oy handed me a five iron. "You hit with five iron, aim left flag liddle bit, and you ball she roll right in."
Yeah, right. But I guess she knew what she was talkin' about. She'd sure known how ter handle me nine iron, so I bent over, gave the little bum wriggle, and swung like mad.
I watched the ball fly up into the air, headed right where she'd pointed. Bluey and his sheila, Nok, stopped to watch, and Oy was standin' there with her eyes and mouth wide open. I wasn't sure if her mouth hadn't got back in shape after our little romp in the woods, or if she was as surprised as the rest of us. Me bloody ball plopped down onto the green and dribbled slowly towards the hole and dropped in. I looked at Bluey and thought, right mate, the game is on!
"Bluey, what about a little bet mate? I've got a coupla thousand Baht here says I can beat yer at this game."
Now, I didn't really think that, but I love to wind old Bluey up. "Yer on mate. The one with the highest score wins." he grinned.
I wasn't about to correct him on that. If he didn't know that the lowest score wins, who was I ter correct him. Anyway, whoever won the bet would be buyin' the beers all night so it didn't really matter. I turned to Oy and said, "Yer heard that, didn't yer? Whoever gets the highest score wins, right?"
Oy gave me a wicked grin and said, "OK! I keep score for both of you." I knew I had picked the best caddy. She was a beaut.
We jumped in the carts and raced to the next tee. Bluey lined up first and gave it an almighty whack. Sure enough, his ball landed up near the green. He grinned at me like all his Christmases had come at once. I just shrugged and ambled up to the tee, put me ball down and gave it a good old slug. It thundered up the fairway and landed a few yards behind his ball. Bluey was lookin' a bit worried. There's no one as lucky as a beginner, is there?
We breezed through the next few holes and Bluey was about three strokes ahead of me. But I didn't mind. He still hadn't twigged what the bet was.
While we were playin' I'd noticed Bluey's girl Nok givin' him the glad eye. Now, I like me sheilas a bit on the skinny side, but Bluey preferred them with a bit of meat, which is why we'd always got on so well. Yer know how it is. Yer meet two shielas. One will be built just right, and the other one is always a fat dog. Lucky me old mate Bluey loved the dogs, leavin' me to take up the good lookin' shielas, so we never had any arguments about who got what.
It was startin' to get a bit dark and suddenly I saw Bluey and Nok go into a huddle. He turned to me and said, "Listen mate, I'm a bit thirsty so I think I'll troop over there to the refreshment stand and buy Nok and me a coolin' ale. Why don't you and Oy play on and we'll catch up ter yer later?"
Well, I couldn't see any refreshment stand, so I knew what that was all about. I give him a wink and a pat on the back and told him to make sure he gave Nok the long straw. He grinned and toddled orf to the cart with his arm draped partway around the voluptuous Nok. I jumped into the cart with Oy and we set off fer the ninth hole. I wasn't sure I would be able to play it, because it was startin' ter get dark, but we soldiered on anyway.
Ten minutes later I'd managed to sink the ball when I saw Bluey harin' up the fairway in the cart lookin' like he was about ter knock me down and keep goin'. But he slid to a stop just before he hit me and jumped out swearin' like a bloody trooper.
"You bastard!" he shouted. "I only just figured out what the bet was. What's the score now?"
"Well, if yer don't play the last hole like a complete duffer, yer still have a chance ter beat me. I'm 85 and yer 83 right now. Where's yer ball?"
He looked around and then spotted it about 5 feet behind the cart. I reckon he dropped it there on the way over, but I wasn't goin' ter argue with him. So he sidled up to the ball, lined it up and gave it a good whack. It sailed up and onto the green, stoppin' about three feet from the hole. He stepped up, gave it a gentle tap, and trickled right into the hole, tieing our scores.
So that was me first ever golf game. Bluey and me both scored a couple of birdies and a hole in the rough, so we did pretty well for a couple of amateurs. We thanked the girls for givin' us such a good game, tipped them both a fair whack, and staggered down to the hire car that was waitin' for us.
This trip ter Thailand was turnin' out to be a heck of a lot more fun than I'd ever thought. But I was getting' a bit worried. We hadn't been anywhere yet I could take some pictures to show the folks back home. Bluey and me sure weren't goin' ter tell them about our adventures so far. They'd never believe us. So over a few beers that night we talked things over and decided to head up north. We'd both heard that it was a cultural paradise, and we wanted ter give it a go.
Don't go away now. Will Foster get all cultural on us? Read on and find out what happens with the elephant…
This is going to make a great book.