I played golf recently on a Saturday morning and that's rare enough to warrant a post. My wife's friend Loggy and his family were up for the weekend and, though my wife hadn't mentioned that I could golf, Loggy thoughtfully brought his sticks. Sitting around a late night bonfire Loggy and I were trying to figure out whether we'd get a pass to play in the morning while our wives took the kids to the beach. When we finally crashed at 1:00 AM we still were being told that golf was out if we wanted to remain married. At 5:45 my youngest son woke us up and my wife turned to me and snapped, "If you're golfing, you should already be gone." Thank god I slept in my golf clothes. We were out the door in about 30 seconds.

Since we had no tee time we were hoping for the best and we lucked out as a twosome was on the first tee. It was a father son duo so we made introductions and hit away. From the first tee shot it was painfully apparent that the kid was going to be a problem. While he had game, he had some serious delusions about just how much he had. Every single shot that didn't go in the hole was followed by bellowing and tantrums with lines like,

"I'm an IDIOT!" and "I'm such a MORON," rang out accompanied by club slamming and foot stomping. His dad said nothing except to offer encouragement after decent shots. And when he did that, the son turned his anger toward his father. Loggy and I just looked at each other in disbelief.

Maybe this is one the downsides to Tigermania. Both Tiger and his hero Nicklaus are famous for their displays of being upset at anything less than perfection although Tiger has gone way past anything Nicklaus ever did. Even during yesterday's final round at Cog Hill where Tiger fired a 63 and was hitting near perfect shots on every hole, the cameras picked up plenty of cursing and petulance. Tiger simply does not have fun while he's playing tournament golf and unfortunately that's all we see of him.

That may be what you have to do to be the world's best but to play with someone like that is a pain the ass. I wouldn't say the kid ruined our round, as we quickly started mocking him behind his back like the mature adults we are, but it was depressing to see how messed up his self-image was. Cussing yourself out, like my friend Gus does when he shanks one, just doesn't get the job done and is proven to add strokes to your game. Yes, I said proven. I read it somewhere. Even worse, a week later when I mentioned to the bartender that I had played with a father/son combo and that the son was an IDIOT, she knew exactly who I was talking about. Word gets around.

Alright, the real reason I was bummed was because I didn't have the perfect response. Of course I thought about yelling "Idiot!" and "Moron!" to him after he hit but that seemed too easy and maybe even too harsh. I thought about yelling at myself so he could hear how stupid he sounded but I was afraid of making myself cry.

And here's the kicker. You know how when you are grinding away and you have a horrible hole where nothing is going right and all of a sudden you walk up and swipe in a 30 footer for triple? With the pressure off good things happen, right? Well, Loggy and I both shot our best rounds of the year, probably because we were so focused on the lad we dubbed Spalding. Come to think of it, I can't wait for Gus to shank another one.

My annual golf/camping extravaganza concluded last Sunday evening. 11 guys played part or all of the 4 day tribute to excess (it would have been 12 but Rick Sha bailed out when the forecast showed a chance of clouds) and we all survived for the most part. Egos were brutally snapped - or snap hooked as it were - as dozens of perfectly fine golf balls betrayed us to find new homes deep in the Maine woods.

What started over 10 years ago as a chance for me to hang out with my brother has mushroomed into an event that takes months to choreograph. In the early days we'd camp at the Dry River campground in the White Mountains, eat hotdogs and wait until mid-afternoon to get the reduced walk-on rate at the North Conway CC. This year we dropped over $100 on back-to-back days at Sunday River and Sugarloaf and we dined like freakin kings with marinated this and that as well as special ordered cheese infused burgers. At least most of us still sleep in tents.

The odyssey began at 7:00AM on Thursday at Spring Meadows. 45 holes and a bunch of bacon bleu burgers later we straggled of the course knowing that the brutal Sunday River CC awaited us on Friday. Actually, the trip really began on Wed morning when I awoke to learn that one of the courses we had lined up had mistakenly made our tee times for Tuesday and was quite upset that we hadn't showed. Not only did they want us to pay but I was now thinking we weren't going to get our real tee times - made months in advance. After I aged about 3 years getting that cleared up I was left wondering how many other suprises awaited me and there was only one - the beverage cart was ready for us by the 7th hole at Spring Meadows so that's a good thing. A really good thing as it turned out since my indifferent start immediately transformed and I birdied 8 of the last 39 holes, including a personal record 5 on our 2nd eighteen. Like I said, it's a trip about excess. Maybe if Sergio had gone on 2 hours sleep and packed his bag with beer he'd be holding the Claret Jug right now. I'm just saying.

After spending the night at one of the guy's estates in Greenwood, we trundled off to Newry with fear and anticipation wrapped up together like a pigs in a blanket. The course was in absolutely spectacular shape and you know it from the second you step onto the 1st tee. I have played greens that weren't in that good of shape and I felt badly for the guys whose drives didn't even reach the fairway. OK, so I only felt bad for my brother who was my partner in the 2 man match that spanned the weekend. OK, so maybe I only felt bad for myself as his 2 attempts went a total of 50 yards and were clearly not going to be found.

My brother plays maybe a dozen times a year and used to let his frustration really get to him. He became known for a hard-faced forced "smile" similar to what you'd expect to see from a guy about to be executed. Kind of like the look on Fredo's face when Michael tells him, "You're dead to me." Except grimmer. Now my brother has a new tact. More like Paris Hilton being cuffed and taken to the pokey. Yes, it will suck for a few days but hey, maybe this will get me on Larry King.

We brought 3 new guys this year and one of them, Teddy Ballgame, has a pretty good game although he still plays a laminated 3 wood. His second round at Spring Meadows had him glowing but Sunday River delivered him devastating body blows that rendered him confused, bewildered and not a little sad. If he wasn't my elder I'd even say he pouted. A lot. I was worried about him because Sugarloaf was looming and he'd never set eyes on it. You don't find your game (or your balls) at Sugarloaf. You just don't. I took my beating like a man at Sunday River and even had the indignity of having our whole group standing by the 18th green as I putted out, needing to sink a 45 foot twister for an 89. There was plenty of wagering on whether I'd be able to 2 putt and, sadly, the one guy who bet on me lost. I'm pretty sure I would have made money on that bet. I know that betting against yourself is not conducive to good scoring but like Homer says about the 5th stage of death, "we all gotta go sometime." I have truly moved past shock, denial, fear and anger and embraced acceptance with a warm hug.

After the round we drove down the mountain and headed to Frenchman's, a local swimming hole with some most excellent ledges for jumping and a total cleansing. Unfortunately, we arrived at the same time as a busload of kids from what I think was a camp for youthful offenders. It was a little like Lord of the Flies as the counselors seemed greatly outnumbered and I genuinely feared for the fat kid. One jump and we were back in our cars - Leathermen at the ready in case they followed us to Kingfield.

We set up camp at Deer Farm Campground about half an hour from the golf course. We rent a, well, I was going to say "rustic" but that's a little too classy, cabin so we have a fridge and stove in case in rains. But, most of us throw up tents and everyone rushes to find the spots furthest from mine. The rumor is that I snore. Whatever. It doesn't bother me. After we get set up there are only two things on our mind: cooking and cornhole (I'm not going to explain cornhole but if you Google it, make sure your kids aren't in the room) and drinks. Three things: cooking, cornhole, and drinks. And nothing else.

We awoke to a glorious day and headed to the Loaf mid-morning for our comeuppance. We got it. Softening the blow was the fact that Inga had the beverage cart ready before we even hit our first shot and $4 beers never tasted so sweet. Got out of the gate with back-to-back pars and then some unmentionables which I'll skip over. OD somehow managed to par the ferocious 9th hole with a chip-in for a net -2 on the hole and my brother birdied #10 while eating a burger. Good times. I didn't play with Teddy Ballgame but word is he spent a lot time staring off into space and talking in a monotone about giving away his prized possessions (sadly, the 3 wood was not among them).

Post round we found another river hole with a 25 foot ledge. This time we had it to ourselves - especially since Teddy and his partner drove straight back to MASS. This trip is not for the weak or the optimistic and the Sunday River/Sugarloaf smackdown is just that. The scenery is mind blowing and the conditions second to none but friendly it ain't. A little rehab and I think Teddy will be fine. One of the other new guys is a psychiatrist (allegedly) and we joked that he could hand out cards on the 18th green and his business would absolutely take off. It's a gold mine.

The final day we headed back down Route 4 to Fox Ridge in Auburn. Now down to 7 guys we drove through rain and nasty forecasts using words like "severe" and "dangerous" so we put on music instead. The course was open and it was barely raining when we teed it up. As we putted out on #9 the claxon sounded as if beckoning us to sample their world renowned gin and tonics without fear of losing our spots. So we did. Looking at an hour delay, 4 guys bolted and it was down to 3 - me, my brother and the doc. The skies cleared and we managed to get the last nine in before the heavy stuff came down. Our wives were all so proud of us for sticking it out.

Awoke on Monday to wet camping gear, sore muscles and various internal organs in disarray. Already working on the dates for next year.

Gin-Joe, Gus and I played in Florida last week and I realized why I live here. OK, so we played in Auburn at the gorgeous Fox Ridge but it was 95 freakin' degrees with bad air and high humidity. It might as well have been FLA. As readers of this blog are painfully aware, I will play in pretty much any weather but I'd much, MUCH rather play in below 40 or pouring rain than endure a 36 hole day in the 90's.

Have to admit I was even feeling like I was stupid for playing - that is until I saw a dude jogging down Route 100. Now that is stupid. Even runners know I'm right. I was in a cart loaded with iced down Powerade and it was still too hot. C'mon! Jogging?

Fox Ridge was in AWESOME shape. Just fabulous. I just can't recommend this course highly enough. If you haven't played there - well, maybe you're really a jogger.

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Played 9 holes with my almost 10 year old son last night. Teed off just before 6:00 and we finished at 7:30. For a course like Spring Meadows to be wide open on a splendid summer evening is bad for them - good for us golfers with kids. If you've been waiting for the time to take your kid - do it now. By 6:00 most leagues are out of the way and there's little or no pressure to add to the stress of teaching golf etiquette on the course to someone who'd just as sson putt with his driver.

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The annual Golf/Camping 4 day fest is next week. Trust me, coordinating schedules with 11 other guys is brutal. This year we start with 36 at Spring Meadows followed by rounds at Sunday River, Sugarloaf and Fox Ridge. It may be a few weeks before I am able to write another entry.