FLORIDA SPORTS ADVENTURES
A fellow Plymouth State alumnus named Steve recently invited me to
fly to Florida to meet and speak to veterans on beautiful Marco Island. Not
wanting to “look a gift horse in the mouth,” I happily accepted, exchanging
snow and sleet for sun and sand.
The Florida people were wonderful, although a transplanted New
Yorker—an Air Force vet—sized me up with a critical eye at a social event.
“So you’re a Marine and a Red Sox fan? What a bad combination!”
I gave him a Clint Eastwood squint.
“It’s better than being an Air Force guy and a Yankee fan. That’s
the worst of all worlds.”
My antagonist stared at me for a moment.
“No, the worst of all worlds would be a Navy guy who likes the
Mets.”
We both laughed and did a fist bump and then the Yankee fan bought
me a drink.
The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
My Sunshine State sojourn was a wonderful opportunity to speak,
swim, and socialize. During a boat trip around the island, my host cautioned me
about getting too much sun.
“Bring it on,” I exclaimed, as I removed my shirt. “It was ten
below zero back home.”
I ended up with a sunburn, but that was OK.
Sports are ubiquitous in my world, of course, and circumstances
required that we find an appropriate venue to watch the Patriots/Broncos
showdown. That venue turned out to be the Foxboro Sports Tavern near Naples,
where the walls were covered with Boston sports memorabilia and the seats were
filled with New England expatriates. The lone Denver fan there had about as much
chance as did the Broncos, as the Pats romped.
Golf was a must and Steve put the top down on his sporty red
convertible and drove me to meet a couple friends at the Arrowhead Golf Club. I
borrowed some clubs from Roger The Marco Island City Manager, but I was out of
synch and didn’t play well and unfortunately lost most of my benefactor’s golf
balls. It WAS cool to play on a flat course, although there were plenty of
giant sand traps and water hazards.
On the back nine Steve sliced a shot toward a pond but I kept my
eye on it as it rolled over a bank.
“I think I can find it,” I said and I headed towards the water,
actually hoping to find some balls for Roger The City Manager to replace the
ones I’d lost. I did locate Steve’s orange ball next to an old tire at the
water’s edge and I saw another ball in the water which I sought to claim by
scooping it up with an eight iron.
But then the “tire” straightened out and I realized it was a big
old alligator. Now I’ve dealt with geese, wild turkeys, squirrels, ground hogs,
and even a moose at Loudon Country Club, but never an alligator.
I stood near the gator and had an idea. I’d ask Steve to let me
play his ball with my eight iron. And I’d ask him to get a phone video of me
making the shot just inches from the alligator. Surely the video would go
viral. I could see it making the Golf Channel! If the gator attacked, well, I’d
wield my deadly eight iron.
But then Wendy The Ranger/Beer Girl, drove by in the Refreshment
Cart and yelled at me.
“Hey! Get away from that alligator! What are you, some kind of
nut?”
I retreated, more afraid of Wendy than the gator.
Steve got a free drop.
