Golf Tournament: Drop Your Old Bag Here

Last week, while visiting family in Florida, I attended my first golf tournament. Holly, my granddaughter, was one of the players representing her high school.




The tournament took place at Turkey Creek Golf Course, where I observed neither turkeys nor creeks, but it was a beautiful, sunny place.  (Oh, right. I was in Florida, where every place is beautiful and sunny.)

I did notice a spot where people are apparently supposed to unload their grandmothers.

Holly's team wore red shirts, and so did her mom.

I chose my costume accordingly.

They let me drive the golf cart.

The players had to walk the entire course and carry their own clubs. We were permitted to follow them in golf carts, but we were forbidden to talk to the players, cheer, or point at lost golf balls. 

It felt a little like we were stalking them.

Each hole was accompanied by a granite marker, which included a tiny map and other pertinent information. I learned that you are not supposed to dig these up to take home and place in your garden.

We had to be very quiet as the girls prepared to tee off. 

All these rules made me feel a bit teed off, myself.

Holly hits a long drive into right field.

The players are "on the green." What other color was there to be on?

Here, Holly is "sinking her putt," which sounds like it might be a fishing term, but isn't.

As we watched the game, Holly's parents sometimes looked hopeful...

 ...and sometimes, not so hopeful.

It turns out that golf is rife with "hazards," not the least of which were nests of fire ants...

...and the occasional stray golf ball to the temple.  Although the player shouted "4," we were lucky, and only one golf ball came our way.
 

Pat tried to avoid the fire ant nest, but risked getting jammed between the golf cart and a tree. Which hazard would he choose?

Yay!  He chose to ride with me in the golf cart!

But, Pat reconsidered his choice when we went perpendicular for a while...

...and then accidently pinned Mary to a tree.

I guess the final straw was when we stopped long enough for Pat to do some repairs to the cart...

...and I forgot to put on the brake.