It was the weekend of the 30th high school class reunion. Classmates from all over the country had dieted, worked out, gotten hair transplants, had teeth whitened. Some even rented luxury automobiles for this chance to show what they had grown up to be. The Saturday morning golf outing had become a major part of the every-ten-year get together. Several of the classmates had purchased new golf clubs and/or the latest in fairway fashions. Some classmates had taken lessons just to make a good showing at the Country Club.
At the Friday night cocktail party the usual buzz was in the air. The beauties who …. did not look so good these days. And, the wall flowers who had somehow transformed into handsome middle-aged women with wealthy husbands. The other topic of discussion was the improvements to the clubhouse (where the main event would be held on Saturday night) and the expansion of the small town country club to 18-holes. The home town golfers (who never left town) were proudly explaining how the new nine had been beautifully blended with the old nine. The golfers who had signed-up for the golf event were placed on scramble teams based on ability. Men and women golfers were divided equally; there would be no “ringer team” assured of capturing the winner’s plaques.
At 10 a.m. the reunion group gathered for the shotgun start while the golf professional, a local golf hero who had played golf for a D-II school, reviewed the rules. The tired very hung over reunion partiers were not the least bit interested in what “the pro” was telling them. No one paid attention to the warning about the dive-bombing, Red-Tailed Hawk protecting her nest in a huge elm tree between the 13th & 14th holes.
The round was proceeding well, although slower than anticipated, as the lead group hit their tee shots on the cute little par-4, thirteenth. Mr. Perfect, the class jerk, dressed in the latest fashion, hit a huge slice with his new Ping driver into the rough near the loan tree that separated the 13th & 14th holes. Obviously, his was not the chosen ball and he hurriedly drove the cart to retrieve the errant shot before the players in the group behind noticed how far off-line he had hit it – again. As he hopped out of the cart to search for his new Top Flight (the last one in his second sleeve), the protective Red-Tailed hawk silently took aim at the new Oakley’s setting on top of his head. The big raptor hit him with such force that he nearly went down and the Oakley’s went flying. The bird circled for another attack as our want-to-be golfer ran for the protection of the covered cart. The runner-up to the homecoming queen, his cart mate, gasp as she inspected the deep bleeding gash in the side of Mr. Perfect’s head. The warnings, to the following groups, spread quickly as Mr. Perfect headed for the emergency room and six stitches caused by the Red-Tail’s razor sharp talons.
Saturday’s banquet went perfectly and the winning team got their plaques. Mr. Perfect also got a trophy, one that he will bring to all future reunions – “The Six Stitch Scar.”
