Golfing in Grand Prarie

Golfing in Grand Prarie
(true story - one name has been changed to protect the innocent)

The wait on the first tee had already drug on for twenty minutes and now this! 110 yards down the left center of the fairway, just before the crossing cart path, an old man was lying on his side.

"What the heck is that?" Rick wanted to know.
Mark shrugged, "He was bending down to check his lie and he never came up".

Debbie and her brother, Randy were still sitting in the carts. Randy quickly appraised the situation and wondered aloud, "You think they will let us play through?"
"They should", replied Debbie, "because we should all be able to clear his body with our drives."

By this time Rick was trotting back to the pro shop to inform the staff about the new hazard in #1 fairway. An overweight gentleman promptly hopped in a cart and headed toward the prone linkster.

"I wonder if he knows CPR?" Mark asked.
Debbie, also concerned, offered "I wonder if he has a walky-talky to report back to the pro shop?"
Rick returned and chimed in, "I wonder if they will give him his money back?"
"I wonder if they will let us play through?" the impatient Randy still wanted to know.

The staff member, having joined the other members of the old man’s foursome, spent a few minutes over the motionless body and then began waving his arms in the direction of the pro shop.

So much for the walky-talky", Debbie said, "Is he signaling that the man is all right?"
Mark wasn’t sure either. "Maybe that means to call for help."
"He looks like those crazy ladies in the studio audience of the Rosie O’Donnell show", Rick said, adding "You know the way they wave their arms back and forth like a referee signaling ‘time out’."
Randy, thinking he had interpreted the gestures, blurted "I think he is telling us to go ahead and play through".

Presently the old man was put into a cart and driven back to the pro shop. The foursome on the tee box looked properly concerned. Debbie was right. Their collective golfing ineptitude dictated that they could have played through. The old man would have been safe. Randy put his tee shot into the right woods. Rick hit a tree and barely cleared the red tees. Debbie’s drive, as always, went 120 yards right down the middle. Mark, however, might have needed an official ruling as he uncorked a slicing worm-burner that could have become embedded in the old geezer’s butt.

As they made their way toward their respective balls, a yellow taxi turned into the entrance of the golf course.
Mark threw up his hands and told Rick "I can’t believe they called a cab instead of an ambulance!"
After walking a few paces Rick replied. "Maybe the local taxi service has a quicker response time."

Rick proceeded to put his second shot down the center of the fairway and into a crossing stream. Frustrated, he fumed, "They should give that old guy a one stroke penalty for slow play".
Mark stopped for a moment of reflection and dead-panned, "His penalty is that he just suffered one stroke".