Yes, sports fans, it will soon be Kflembeauski time here in the flatlands, and this year there WILL BE a tournament.That’s right, The Championship of the Universe will take place in the Toledo Ohio area on July 21st. It’s been some three years in the making, but it finally seems all KFBGA members have been notified and with one possible exception (I SINCERELY hope not, but what happens – happens) all seem read to compete.
In addition, Dale Tornes, a relative by way of Marge’s cousin Carole, has graciously agreed to give us all a brief tutorial and join the tourney. In view of the lack of acceptance by Tiger (a conflicting event) and Jack Nicklaus ( who no longer competes in tournaments), Dale will represent the rest of the universe. ET, as you know, is unable to use equipment designed for humans – our only restriction on entry. (I had considered asking my friend Dudley to join us, but his rather “filterless” antics on the course might be viewed dimly by both course management and other golfers alike.)
There are, of course, details to be worked out. Location is at the top of that list, and I look to local experts Dan, Daniel and Adam to put their heads together and pick just the right (hopefully forgiving) course on which to stage the great event. Tee times can then be set. Also, although I’d like to host the association festivities afterwards, my apartment is much too small for such a crowd. I will again look to Dan and Adam to decide to post-round venue, and offer whoever hosts access to Grammie’s baked beans and Papa’s sloppy Joes if they are wanted or needed. Out of town players are welcome to contact the local member of their choice for accommodations for overnight stays. And for those who wonder about the type of course we have to choose from, simply print out a copy of this post, turn it over, and you will be looking at a topographical map of the Toledo are. If you have a choice of terrain for your particular game, by all means pick an area of the map that best suits your needs.
Finally, I’d like to remind all (except a certain overly well-developed athlete who quite unfairly makes us all look foolish and has kept the coveted Kflembeauski Cup for FAR too long) we HAVE to figure out a way to rattle Cory enough to beat him! Remember: refer to him as “Woody”, make jokes about tattoos, comment on guys who wear those silky shorts everywhere, anything to distract him. (Sorry, Cory, it had to be said!)
Finally, good luck to all in the tourney – yes, even Cory. And keep in mind that papa is old and racked with arthritis and probably deserves some kind of special break.
(For the first time since I initiated this blog in December 2015, I start this posting with no title at the top of the page. That’s because there are many things to cover, and I’m sure I can connect everything smoothly. If you receive your copy with a title at the top, I guess I will have come close.)
Greek philosopher and teacher Socrates, whom I have always admired as the ultimate believer in democracy and civil obedience and order, once said: “The unexamined life is not worth living.” But I find Dudley has gotten himself bogged down in self-examination and come to some startling conclusions: “I’m a miserable failure, and I can’t deal with it,” he told me the other day. “There are so many people whom I’ve loved and held close for years who are now bolstering me and making my life a pleasure again, and I have had no hand in my own revival.” I said I doubted that was true, but he insisted it was accurate: “Out of the blue my family and friends have scooped me up, moved me to a new home in a new town and set me up with new goals and new hopes and a fresh chance to start life over again. And I can’t for the life of me see where I ever deserved all this. Sure, I love my family and friends and try to help them if I can, but this is like a whole different level. I’ve been picked up and literally set down in a different life … a different universe.”
He went on, rambling about how he was struggling to get someone on the right track; struggling to make a comfortable life for his wife; struggling to understand what drives some people to take contrary paths and see nothing wrong in that; and struggling to remain calm and focused while his world and most people in it seemed farther away with each passing day. Then a bunch of us packed him up, moved him closer to family and great grand kids, and gently showed him how to re-organize his life and affairs to accommodate his new life. And for the first time in his life the sarcastic, often feisty old guy found he was no longer in charge of his own destiny.
“I’ve never been ‘looked after’ before,” he said. “And I don’t know that I can or should live like this. I’ll never be able to pay back all the caring and love, let alone the support, and It makes me crazy. I’M THE ONE who’s supposed to do those things, and this all seems upside down. Backwards!” Dud was actually misty, now, and I had no words to help him. He was gazing off into the distance and breathing heavily. I tried to tell him that all that was really happening was that the people he’s taken care of over the years were simply returning the favor, but he would not hear it. “I drew my life force from those people,” he said. “Looking after them was what completed my own existence. I got more out of caring for them than they EVER got from me. And now it seems to be over. I’m expected to share my doctors’ reports with them and admit what new part doesn’t work right this week. They want to know what I’m eating and what exercise I’ve gotten this week and they don’t seem to care that what bothers me most is what ALWAYS bothered me most: other people”
Dud has long let it be known that the quirks and foibles of others drive him bonkers: He hates whistlers (they never whistle a whole song, just the same notes over and over); and what some call “fashion” (like the new stretch pants that look and fit like colored long-johns), or men’s suits and jeans with legs so narrow they look like the guy wearing them stole them from his sister’s closet), and anyone eating anything with mouth wide open (so we have to HEAR every smack and chomp!). And now the guy with all these criticisms of others finds himself no longer in control. No longer “superior” to those who irritate him, and he can’t adjust to the new human side of himself. I suppose I should feel sorry for old Dud, but somehow I don’t: I’m happy for him. I just hope he sees that some day,