You know how in movies about a boxing match or maybe a horse race, after all the bets are in, they bring out the competitor that no one had planned on and all expectations go out the window?
That’s called a ringer.
After playing in this new golf league on 5 dates, I had acquired enough scores for the organizers to determine my handicap. I’m still a little fuzzy on the whole concept of handicaps, I mean, why can’t your score just be your score. But apparently the handicap is used to balance scores of the great players and the mediocre players, or the god-awful players like me.
In theory, I could play Tiger Woods if my handicap were factored in. There’s a terrifying thought.
The lower the handicap, the better the golfer. Let’s just say that my handicap is roughly four times greater than most. Not good.
I arrived today to learn that my group last week came in second in last week’s tournament and I received 3 crisp one-dollar bills as a result.
Hmmm . . .? I thought. But then things got busy and we all stormed off to the course.
At the end of today, it turned out my group had again placed second in the tournament. I had played a little less abysmally than last week, but nothing special.
Then one of my group came up and thanked me and the other shoe fell.
Guess what? I could actually be in hot demand, because when you factor my gigunda handicap in, it drops all the other scores in the group through some whacko golf magic.I’m the ringer!