Charles Barkley is Turrible at Golf

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Another Reason to Never Pass out at Google's House

So this article and corresponding photo was emailed to us from a friend of the Blacked Out Golfers earlier this morning. Shockingly enough, people get drunk and pass out all over the world! This concept should somehow be incorporated into a ride at Disneyland.

"When this drunken Aussie was shaken awake by police he prayed none of the neighbors had seen him collapsed on the curb. Unfortunately millions could gaze at his slumped form. For at the moment he passed out, Google's Street View camera car was filming in that corner of Melbourne. And the man - identified only as Bill, 46, - is not happy. The fisherman who had been drowning his sorrows at a funeral, said: "I wasn't thinking there would be someone driving by with a camera."

Thankfully, Google is not in a rush to get dark alleys and parking garages mapped out at 3 in the morning so I think my worries shall remain focused on staying alert enough to avoid all the horny transsexuals. Hell, that Aussie should quit complaining, at least the police found him before the wombats did.

Course Review: Meadows Farms

A short disclaimer before I begin the review... This past weekend, I was invited to come play this course with our good friend Flanman and his Flan-father under one condition: don't make a drunken ass of yourself. You see, Flanman's old man is a minister, and not one of the cool ones that molests little boys. No, he's one of the good ones, so I was instructed to restrict the alcohol intake and go easy on the fucking swearing. A seemingly impossible request, but I promised I would do my best. Therefore, I am saddened to announce that the following recap is rated PG: Pretty Gay.


Course Review: Meadows Farms (We played the Island/Waterfall combo)

Course Rating/Slope: 65.8/113 (If you play the Longest Hole 9, the course is much harder)

Yes there is a green on top of the waterfall, and yes my camera is a pile of shit

Location: Locust Grove, VA. With a name like this, you would hope that there would be swarms of locusts destroying crops and engulfing old people, but we were all disappointed to find that the only plague ravishing this town was poverty. The town itself was about 15 miles west of Fredericksburg, and if you are headed there from DC on a Saturday morning, DO NOT take I-95. Unless you happen to drive a monster truck.

Price: $50/Saturday round

Course Layout: The course itself is pretty fucking cool and appears to be have been designed by someone who was obsessed with mini-golf as a child. The course boasts a handful of novelty holes, which are scattered evenly over the 27-hole course. The course features a couple of island greens (both water and sand), a green located on top of a waterfall, a green located in the outfield of a disfigured baseball field, and their pride and joy, the Guinness Book of World Record's longest hole, a monstrous 800-plus yard Par 6. Thank Christ I didn't have to play that one.

The course wasn't all novelty holes though and featured plenty of challenging par 4's and 5's. The layout of the course was pretty decent and holes weren't on top on each other so your group has plenty of breathing room. My only complaint with the course was that it was too hilly. There were numerous occasions where I would hit a good looking drive that would sail over the hill never to be found again. I probably lost 6-8 balls on halfway-decent shots that drifted out of my sight line. Not surprisingly, I think that's bullshit.

flanman is either fishing for a lost ball or a discarded hot dog

Course Appearance: The course itself was in pretty good shape, although it was a little wet. Fairways and especially greens were really fast, and of course I compensated by pretending I had no dick when hitting all my putts.

Cart Girls: I don't even know what to say about this. They had some delightful nubes working the clubhouse and running errands around the course, but the cart "girl" was a grizzled older lady with a fake tan and a faker rack. I couldn't even look her in the eye when I first bought beers, it was a feeling similar to when a homeless man comes up to your car offering to wash your windshield. I felt even worse because I did not have any taco bell sauce packets to tip her with.

Clubhouse Food: 2 out of 5 Hotdog Rating. Half Smokes were overcooked, but the food and beer were cheap.

Carts: Oh man, the only thing sadder than Judas' betrayal of Jesus was my golf cart. I don't think they all were this bad, but I had to keep my foot on the gas for a good 5 seconds before the weed-whacker engine would come to life and take off. It must have grown to trust me throughout the day though as it did eventually get better. The only upside was that the governor on the cart was set high or might have been completely off, so I was able to pick up some speed and subsequently terrify ol' ruffino on the downhill paths.

Errant Shot of the Day: Can't really remember a good one, but I will go with the final hole, a par 5 where I ended up losing 3 balls, the last one ending up somewhere in the parking lot. May I suggest Feathered-Touch? You have selected POWER DRIVE.

this hole made me nostalgic of the old days, when i also didn't give a shit about baseball

Awkward Moment of the Day: Sadly, we avoided a majority of the awkward moments that have plagued us in the past due to our penchant for binge-drinking. There was an amusing moment when I went to grab my camera and came back to the tee box to take a shot of the island green, not realizing that Papa Flan was taking a mully as I obliviously attempted to turn it on and check the settings. I was this close to paying for my sins by means of a vengeful 9-iron.

Beers Drank: 8. And that's among 3 people... piss-fucking-poor. Also, Flanman owes me a beer.

Final Thoughts: A fun course that I would definitely play again, but first I'd have to figure out a new way to get down there. Using I-95 as the route is more disastrous than my epic failure of a social life. Also, I would need to do a much better job of keeping track of my drives in this hilly course. I didn't quite expect to lose track of that many balls off half-decent shots. The uniqueness of the course though makes up for these faults and it proved to overall be a fun time. I would also like to note that there is a TV in the clubhouse dedicated to the 'Skins, and a second TV dedicated to whoever the Cowboys are losing too. Now that, is fucking badass.

Al Czervik would be proud

Received this email from one of our esteemed golfing partners yesterday (names poorly withheld to protect the innocent):

My friend Cooper runs a fantasy golf league that i'm in. He sends out weekly "good, bad, and ugly" emails where he ranks random things that occur during the week. Here is this week's "bad"

The BAD:
-What Stanley must have thought while playing golf in Fairfax on Saturday. He said that the group behind them kept making lots of noise and was generally acting rowdy. While his group was on the 8th tee, the aforementioned group sped around the corner and slammed on the breaks [sic] in the middle of a tee shot. Stanley then surprisingly heard someone utter the question, "Geoff Stanley?" Naturally, the person leading the rowdy group was Mr. Flanman ("Fancy Clap").

Honestly, i don't know what is more offensive, the fact that they think Flanman is the ringmaster of our rowdy group, or the fact they would have the nerve to tee off while I am attempting to perfect a 180 stop in a golf cart. That maneuver is fucking hard asshole.

Anyway, I'll at least give the poor chap some props over the use of the phrase "Fancy Clap". I believe Berg got a nasty case of that disposing some of the classier dead hookers from his father's trunk.

Missing: Credit Card, Phone, Dignity

True to our name, this is the third Saturday in a row that I’ve been a varying level of blackout after a round of golf. This doesn’t happen at the course, but rather later that night when my body decides to stop even attempting to keep up with all the shit I keep pouring into it. This all falls well into my plan of dying before I turn 38. My liver does not find that joke amusing.

Anyhow, after passing out in an alley for a good bit of time late Saturday night, I finally stumbled my way to a cab and headed home. It was only there that I discovered my wallets and pockets were a little lighter. How is it that I always lose phones and credit cards after nights like these, and never my anal virginity? Certainly one of life’s greatest mysteries. I figure at this point I should start asking the government for tax credits for my phone donations to the homeless.

Course Reviews: Fairfax National

Course: Fairfax National (We played the Wilderness/Bullrun combo)

Course Rating/Slope: 71.5/127

Location: allegedly Centreville, VA, which is complete bullshit. The exit we got off on 66 was in Centreville, the course itself might as well been in West Fucking Virginia for as long as we had to drive to get there.

Price: $35/Saturday round

Course Layout: For a course out in the middle of fucking nowhere, it sure wasn’t designed with lots of space in mind. It featured 27 holes that were all on top of each other, a superb clusterfuck of epic proportions. At certain points of the day you could stop and look around the course and see upwards of 10 other groups playing, which is far too much potential for social interaction for my tastes. Narrow fairways and the poor course layout led to no shortage of fore’s as balls were continuously sailing from one fairway into the next. Hopefully close family members will remember your stance during the Schiavo debacle in case you get clunked in the head during your round. The course also features a shitload of long par 4’s and 5’s, so pray to Jesus that your long game came to play.

Course Appearance: Fairways were decent but greens were really shitty. They were splotchy and balls were bouncing like a hooker’s tits during putts. Bunkers were also in crappy shape and the water hazards were disgusting and probably home to at least one Fro and/or swamp thing.

Cart Girls: The one area where this course truly stood out. They certainly know how to hire the noobs at this place. Courteous, polite, and smoking hot, they certainly inspired one to think up numerous euphemisms for eating out a girl’s asshole.

Clubhouse Food: 3 out of 5 Hotdog Rating (I don’t even know what this means)

Carts: Carts were actually pretty decent, they were gas-powered and pretty quick. They were also proven to be capable of doing 180’s although only in the hands of Berg. My difficulties in stunt driving a cart supposedly mirror my difficulties in pleasing a woman.

Errant Shot of the Day: I was going to go with one of Ruffino’s drives that sailed into a neighboring green, creating a humorous moment for us as we watched a fellow group cower in fear, but I am going with a homer pick. On one of the early holes in the back 9, we were faced with a quick dogleg left that began a hundred or so yards out. Not feeling confident with my irons, I decided to whip out my driver and cut it close to the wilderness to see if I could punch it through. My shot off the tee was straight and pretty, until it slammed directly into a large tree, bouncing directly back towards the tee box. It landed about 20 yards from where it started. Deciding then to use my back 9 mully, I teed again but shanked this one directly into the woods. All in all, a hilarious sequence.

Awkward Moment of the Day: Reminiscing on my how you doin’ line from the previous night, I remarked that perhaps tonight I should use it again, but to spice it up with a new accent. I decided an asian “hau you do-in” would be worth a shot, combined with a little bow. It was at this point we realized some Korean guy was right next door retrieving his errant shot. Oops. Me so solly.

Beers Drank: 44, I think, 24 of which were busch light, the epitome of high society.

Final Thoughts: It was a solid day, but that’s a course I’d only want to play maybe once or twice a year. Too crowded and poor quality overall, but I guess you are getting what you pay for, which is acceptable when you are a cheap bastard like myself.

"How you doin?"

Yes, "how you doin?" spoken with a Jersey accent was actually this beetles attempt to talk to a girl last night. Let me paint the picture for you...

We both notice this pretty cute girl enter the bar alone and drunk. She proceeds to dance with 2-3 dudes and then starts heading over to the Beet and I. I notice this and tell Beet to talk to her. This is when the fun began.

Beet: "how you doin"?
Girl: hi
Beet: *crickets*

The girl then thankfully walked away ending the longest most painful 30 seconds I have ever been apart of. I was actually so embarrassed by this train wreck that my head got really hot and I felt nauseous.

There is no way that this could possibly go wrong

Well guys, welcome to the beginning of the end of us officially turning gay. It really has been a wonderful trip, but being somewhat normal human beings was taking a tremendous toll on us. So how can we fix that? Launch a blog of course.

So it is here that I introduce Blacked Out Golfers, a special place where we can provide recaps of our exploits on the greens and have maybe 3 people read about it. Berg and I dreamed this idea up last night while getting shitbombed and there is no possible way that we'll ever come around to regret this.

So, if you ever feel the need to read about boatie cart girls, the running lawsuit against Berg by the Golf Cart Association Of America, this Beetle's theory of how every beer you consume on the course should result in a stroke shaved off your score, or perhaps just a general tip from ol' Ruffino (choke up on the club dammit!!), we'll have you covered.

The over/under on the length of time this blog is regularly updated will officially be set at 5 weeks.