Thursday, May 18, 2023
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We lost one of our best “one putt green” golfers we had. For years, under the tutelage of one of our old playing partners, Steve, Bob became a master at the putting game. Not because he made a lot of long putts, but because he always chose a club less and played to the fringe. LOL Won more than his fair share of total putt bets (ask Dan). Unfortunately, Bob came up short again, but this time to the dreaded “C” word. He was a pleasure to play with, even though he played his ball to the finish and went back to the cart to keep score, while the rest us putted out. I miss him keeping score already, a job I didn’t mind relinquishing. In our 20+ years of playing together, we were paired hundreds of times, for two-man team events or Best Ball. We usually played our worst golf for one another, anytime, or every time we were partners. Best Ball was not in our vocabulary. More like the Best Worst Ball is the game we played. We had numerous foursomes together, usually teeing off at the crack of dawn. Most notably, one of the four was the postman, Steve. Steve and I shared a birthday together, while Bob and Steve shared a cart together. Still don’t know how the two of them fit on one seat. Never mind the fact if they were comfortable or not (poor cart). You didn’t have to watch Bob play, with his pronounced left to right “fade”, you just waited to hear the smack of the ball and silence, or the grumblings of profanities, to know exactly what Bob did. And you could hardly tell if he shot an 80 or 100. It all sounded the same.
My first 18 after learning of Bob’s passing was tough to say the least. After finishing the round and shaking hands on the 18th green, it finally hit me that I will never play golf or shake hands with my friend again. Crying and grieving, I made my way back to my car. I thought of the way too many friends and loved ones that I have lost way too early.
Shortly before I teed off that day, sitting alone on the bench in my thoughts, facing that first fairway, something caught the corner of my eye. As if someone was arriving to the first tee from the left, like a thousand times before, a fox strolled up and looked at me. He stopped no more than a couple arms lengths away and stared right at me. Standing motionless looking at me for 10, 20 seconds maybe, he then left, darting up the stairs across the first tee box.
When I repeated my fox encounter to my wife, she said “That was Bob, saying goodbye.” I will never forget that fox.
My deepest condolences.
