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.

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