Month: April 2020

3 Massachusetts golfers arrested for violating Rhode Island coronavirus quarantine order: police¹Richmond police say the three duffers went to elaborate lengths to hide their identities as out-of-towners so they could get in a round of golf at the Meadow Brook Golf Course in town on Wednesday.

Gregory Corbett, 51, Tyler Pietrzyk, 22,  and Nye Cameron, 22, were apprehended at a nearby McDonald’s restaurant, where police say the men changed cars to drive to the club in a vehicle with Rhode Island license plates, the Attleboro Sun Chronicle reported Friday.

Cops issued the three men summonses for violating the quarantine when they drove back from the golf course to their vehicles at the McDonald’s in the vehicle with the Rhode Island plates, the paper reported.

Employees at the McDonald’s ratted them out.

By Robert Gearty | Fox News

In a related story, 1 Ontario golfer (sic) arrested for violating Humber River environmental protection order: police.

“He consciously hit 80 golf balls into the river thus severely damaging the delicate eco system,” affirmed the policeman who answered a call from a distraught former Scarlett Woods marshall and general factotum who happened to be passing by.

The golfer (sic), in his defense, said he was practicing and the shots unintentionally went into the Humber. ‘I was perfecting my slice to perfection.’

“There isn’t a jury in the world that would believe someone, who calls himself a golfer (sic), could possibly hit 80 consecutive balls in the water,” continued the police sergeant. ‘I suggested he slow down his swing as I slipped on the cuffs.’

Trying to avoid the arrest, the golfer (sic) showed the officer his ‘Get out of jail free’ card which he always carries with him. The officer, after checking with headquarters, dismissed the well worn piece of ID but did, after the golfer’s (sic) knees-on-the-ground incessant pleading, call the Lakeview golf club.

After a lengthy animated conversation, the policeman reluctantly took off the cuffs and let the golfer (sic) go, explaining, “They know the guy, Don Dally. They said he’s legit, tries hard but can’t stay dry. The Lakeview pro went on to explain they have water on the 18^th hole there and this guy personally has made the water level rise. They confirmed he’s taking lessons to learn to slice the ball away from the water and safely into the woods.” 

(to be continued)

Another thrill packed episode in the on-going saga of man versus man versus the elements, in this case, daring Don Dally at his full height challenging a pair of fitful fisherman and both sides defying the humble Humber river at low tide

When we last left Daring Don, he was retrieving a set (made up of 20 St. George’s¹St. George’s is a prestigious private golf club in Toronto. range golf balls – Hey, they’re Titleists) of his errant shots that had inexorably faded into the roiling rapids and splashed the fly by knights of the rod and reel.

“Get thee to a driving range,” they remonstrated.

“Get thee to a fish store,” daring Don remonstrated right back.

And so it began, two parties of limited skill, adherents of limited skill sports, waging verbal war on one another while up to their knees in the muddy runoff. A crowd of limited skill sports’ fans started to cheer them on from both sides of the river.

“Fly a feathery at ‘em,” was heard in support of daring Don.

“Cast aspersions,” came the other side’s biting retort.

“Crush his creel,” exhorted Don’s disciples.

“Fly one by him,” came the rejoinder.

Testing the idiom that actions speak louder than words, one of the fly casters picked up one of Don’s balls and threw it farther downstream, making it by far Don’s longest drive of the day.

“Good one,’ encouraged one side of the river.

To counter, Don pulled out his nail kit (He can teach hygiene.) which he always carries with him along with his get out of jail free card, removed the scissors, and cut one of the fly casters’ lines.

“Ooooo, game on,” came the roar from Don’s side.

While this was going on, unbeknownst to either party, the park’s clean up crew was breaking up a log jam farther upstream that was limiting the flow of water.“Stand back, mates,” warned the displaced aussie supervisor, “when we pull that key log, there’ll be a rush of water that will catch their attention in Buffalo.”

(to be continued – fade to black)

Another episode, a golfer’s saga – chapter 3, for those of you keeping track and with a 3 ring binder at the ready, in the on-going saga of man against adversity, our Don Dally. aka Daring Don of the Valley.

Daring Don was the first to hear the roar of the onrushing water. His keen ear was attuned, being a cottage owner, to picking up the signal of impending disaster. Hadn’t Don, alone but unafraid, wrestled a beaver away from his dam (no, not a female beaver) to avoid flooding his trophy room including his collection of rare guitar picks?

Yes, daring Don, was about to test his survival skills again.

(lights down – music up – sfx tsunami).

Don’s alert eye discerned logs among the rushing torrent; decision time: pick up the golf balls or warn the fishermen blithely ignorant of the impending doom?

(pause)

Don let out a blood curdling scream as a ball escaped his grasp.

But then a grateful “Thank you God,” escaped Don’s lips as a bruised but still playable Titleist with St. George’s Range lettering still legible came within easy reach.

The tidal wave surged closer. But Don’s I’ll-help-you-even-if-you-don’t-want-help’s conscience couldn’t be put on pause and he yelled to the blithely ignorant fishermen casting, now that one of them had refitted his cut line, their lures.

“Give me a line,” barked Don.

“Your mother wears army boots,” came the rebark.

“No, throw me a fishing line, I’ll lash it … just a minute”…”there’s another golf ball … got it … I’ll lash it to a passing log and save us all.”

The fishermen then realized that things were about and figured they had nothing to lose even though they detested Don’s dastardly ways and cast their lines in Don’s direction.

Don’s eyes widened with an unmistakeable look of fear … “Wait a minute,” came the wail… the fishermen froze… “Can you guys pick up that golf ball that’s heading your way?”

The onrush of logs and water was getting closer (music up again). The crowds on both sides of the river, sensing the biting banter was put on hold, headed for higher ground quickly taking out their cells phones and checking their e-mails.

Don seized the moment, while seizing another golf ball, “I’ve got most of them now,” he proudly beamed and planned his jump perfectly, landing on top of a passing log. Don now feverishly (Music up again: let’s go from a Cm to an Ab/C) lashed the two fishing lines around the log and belted to his company in misery, “Hold on!”

And with that, the three of them were carried down the angry Humber (hell hath no fury like a stream’s scorn), Don straddling the log in bronco busting fashion, and the two fisherman holding onto their rods on a tow bouncing over the waves with the low lying, small opening, old mill bridge looming in the distance.

How, you’re probably asking yourself, are they going to get out of this predicament? And will they log an injury? Most importantly, did Don get all his balls?

(Stay tuned)

Thanks to an observant reader, we shouldn’t be surprised at our daring Don’s log riding skill as he could well have a genetic disposition to succeed in this area with Québec forebears who were log drivers. Research did unearth one Ronald Dallé, affectionately called ‘le mouillé, the wet one, who earned his living this way and could well be a relative but there was no supporting evidence that he also played golf and/or looked for golf balls while on the job.

W hen we last left our daring Don, he was impersonating Slim Pickins’ role in Dr. Strangelove riding a log hurtling towards the Old Mill Bridge and certain death or at least minor surface bruising. For those not comfortable with the geography, please refer to the picture below. This, of course, wouldn’t accurately illustrate what Don would be facing with a raging torrent closing off the two outside arches.

The Magwood Park crowd that had enjoyed the give and take upstream  reassembled on the bridge for more light entertainment.

So, to recap, here’s Don astride a log followed by the two fishermen bouncing breathlessly along behind holding on for dear life to their tested in life for Canada Canadian Tire¹Canadian Tire is a chain of stores specializing in automotive and sporting gear. Definitely not up scale. rods and colour matched reels.

Further evidence that Don, in a former life, was a log driver can be assumed as he sized up his options:

1. Look for any golf balls that might have drifted down stream to this point
2. Guess that the log he was riding could well turn 90 degrees and lock onto the bridge and he would never get to see his balls again
3. Jump off this log onto a shorter limb that could pass safely under the arch

Don, after a suitable pause, reluctantly chose number 3 and with a sure-footed leap he landed perfectly on a passing log (Don still had his golf shoes on, in case you were wondering – ed) that floated under the arch while the log he had been on, as expected, jammed up against the bridge. Whew, it was that close!

But, I hear you asking, what of the fishermen?

Let me try to bring you in high resolution 4K this nerve-wracking, finger-nail biting, tennis-elbowing picture as poignantly, colourfully and accurately as possible. When the log their lines were lashed to slammed into the bridge, the fishermen, still holding steadfastly to their tested for life in Canada Canadian Tire rods and colour matched reels, zipped over the log, flew through the arch and then started decelerating rapidly just clear of the bridge as the 500 lb. test lines, now fully stretched, started to snap back. Nothing could save them now from crushing their creels and themselves back into the bridge. But unbelievably, just at that moment, a maxed out wave funnelled down through the arch catching the fishermen and boomeranging them high into the air. In seemingly slow-motion, the fishermen floated skyward tracing out an arc that would have them flying back over the bridge or, at the very least, landing in the path of a passing car carrying seven seventh day adventists on their way to the Old Mill²Old Mill, a working mill on the Humber in 1834, is an upscale hotel/restaurant complex today. for an inexpensive lunch with wine; surely nothing could save them now.

(music way up: violins going crazy)

Amazingly, with a nod to one Ripley, believe it or not, at that very moment, the packed crowd had their hands in the air applauding the spectacle and thus were able to unintentionally catch the fishermen and cushion their fall. Yes, they were saved!

Somebody, who happened to have a nail kit on their person (they’d taken a course in hygiene – ed), took out the scissors and cut the fishermen’s lines so their tested for life in Canada Canadian Tire rods and colour matched reels were saved, too. A miracle.

Meanwhile (violin music down, dulcimer up) our hero Don, balancing precariously but skillfully on his log, continued to surfboard down the Humber heading for the maybe dangerous, but definitely architecturally questionable, Humber Bay Arch Bridge. Again, for those with limited knowledge of internationally acclaimed must-sees when visiting Etobicoke, please refer to the picture above.

By now, our hero, visibly exhausted, lay down on the log, wrapped his arms and legs around it securely and, letting go of a golf ball to lighten and balance the load, fell asleep. From a distance, he was sleeping like a log.

Last seen, daring Don had drifted harmlessly under the bridge and into Lake Ontario as darkness fell.

(if you’re up for it, to be continued)

---

[i] Canadian Tire is a chain of stores specializing in automotive and sporting gear. Definitely not up scale.

[ii] Old Mill, a working mill on the Humber in 1834, is an upscale hotel/restaurant complex today.

“Welcome aboard.”

Don, groggy, barely awake, “Where … where am I?”

“You’re aboard a Canada Steamship Line freighter.”

“Not the Edmund Fitzgerald?”¹ Sank in Lake Superior in 1975.

“You’re delirious, that sank a while back …”

“I can play it in A.”² The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” is a song written, composed, and performed by Canadian singer-songwriter Gordon Lightfoot to commemorate the sinking of the bulk carrier.

“No, no ….”

“C# minor then …. If not the Edmund Fitzgerald …”

“The St. Laurent.”

“That’s Québec, right? French Québec?”

“Right.”

“Would you know a Ronald Dallé?” queried Don hopefully.

“No …don’t think so.”

“How’d you find me?”

“The bosun was up on the bow spriting, it was calm, a clear night, sound carried well and he thought he heard a cry …”

“A cry?”

“More like an off-key wail …something like …  it’s a pity …”

“Kansas City! I can play it in A.”

“No …”

“C# minor then … where are we heading?”

“Right now we’ve just passed through the Welland³Links lake Erie with lake Ontario to get around Niagara Falls. canal. We’re on our way to Chicago.”

“Chicago? I can’t get into the States, I don’t have any ID.”

“I’m captain Omen. What’s your name?”

“Don Dally or daring Don or Don of the Valley or, if you’re dyslexic, Valley of the Don, but you can call be Don.”

“OK Don. We went through your things, there’s a ‘Get out of jail free’ card, that could come in handy. Nice nail kit, too. And what’s with the golf balls?”

“How many were there?”

“A dozen.”

“I’m missing 8, we’ve got to go back.”

“I’d like to hear your story, first.”

“You’ll be the only one.” (sound of studio applause)

And with that, our daring Don, dishevelled but none the worse for wear, sat down with captain Omen in the galley and, warming to a mug of requested Ovaltine, told his tale to date with minor deviations (“I’m a scratch golfer that likes to play quickly …so, with the courses not yet open, I went down to the Humber to practice …”)

Captain Omen, checking his watch, decided it was noon somewhere and opened a bottle of Shiver Me Timbers offering a generous dram to our daring Don.

“This should pick it up; you do drink, don’t you?”

“Normally only estate wine but I’ll be glad to join you.”

“That’s quite the saga. So, what are we going to do with you? You’re right, we can’t put you off in Chicago and that’s our only port this trip.”

“Well, I can play the blues, Chicago style blues, you know blues for the Cubs and Sox⁴Chicago professional baseball teams. maybe I could get a day pass, a temporary musician’s union card and play, ‘take me out to the ballgame,’ earn some money and hitch a ride to the Canadian border. I’m a CAA⁵Canadian Automobile Association member.”

“I didn’t see an instrument among your things.”

“There’s a comb in the nail kit.”

“Maybe we can get you on another freighter heading back. How good are you at jumping?”

“You’re sure you don’t know Ronald Dallé?”

And with that, Captain Omen got on the ship’s phone and arranged to have our daring Don transfer to the Baie-Comeau, heading for Montréal, which they’d be passing soon.

“The Baie-Comeau,” interrupted Don. ‘Isn’t that Brian Mulroney’s⁶Canadian prime minister 1984 – 1993 birthplace?”

“I think you’re right,” recalled captain Omen, “but I don’t think that’s why they named it.”

“Is there another ship? I politically lean more to port (staying in context),” lamented Don. Pleading his case, Don continued. “And I can’t play ‘When Irish eyes are smiling’⁷Famous duet sung by Brian Mulroney and visiting US president Ronald Reagan in 1985 in A. Maybe C# minor.”

Now, for the landlubbers out there, transferring between ships is a risky business at the best of times. But lake Erie was choppy that afternoon, my friends, it was near nightfall, hard to see the gunwales (aka gunnels) so everything had to be timed perfectly.

The Baie-Comeau launched a small dinghy with a ship’s hand, Pierre, rowing towards the St. Laurent. When the dinghy came alongside the St. Laurent, Don was to jump on board.

Well, that’s what Don was supposed to do. Maybe Don was tired; maybe Don’s luck ran out; maybe Don’s golf shoes needed polishing. Whatever, when Don jumped so did the dinghy and Don missed it completely.

“Tabernac⁸French colloquialism when things aren’t going well.”

Pierre’s only option was to dive in after Don. Fortunately Don was an excellent dog paddler so was able to quickly grab Pierre in a choke hold and the pair of them splashed and kicked their way to the dinghy.

Pierre, wondering what he’d done to deserve this pain in the neck, wrestled Don out of the choke hold and into the dinghy. By now, both freighters had moved on, each thinking that everything was OK. Pierre was not a visible member of the crew, working the engine room on the night shift so nobody would give him the gears.

Here’s the scene: a Quebécois who speaks no english sitting opposite an anglais from white Ontario whose French-for-any-occasion is, and he proudly used it now, ‘La plume de ma tante est sur la table.”

“Quoi?” questioned Pierre shaking the water out of his ear, or was he trying to decipher Don’s accent? Don, ever vigilant, took in his surroundings, ‘What’s that roar?”

“Les chutes de Niagara,” moaned Pierre.

“The shoots of what?” questioned Don.

(Stay tuned; and crank up those strings)

This could be it for Pierre and Don. How can they possibly get away from this disaster in the making? Here they are, burdened by a failure to communicate, rushing towards the precipice of the mighty Niagara Falls. (the Canadian Falls cause they’re more dramatic.)

How are they to be saved, if at all?

(Piano playing the silent movie theme for a train coming down the track towards a maiden tied hand and foot to the rails¹Actually, they never seem to be tied to the rails; these maidens just lie there. Couldn’t they roll off or do something and save the train passengers considerable inconvenience? Just asking. struggling to get loose.)

Don, not only quick footed but quick witted, sized up the options; Pierre did the same thing in French: (option in English is option f. in French)

1. Die (why not? Don’s been paying into life insurance for years; should at least get a tombstone out of it. Pierre, maybe not.)
2. Somebody could turn off the falls (Timing could be the issue here; it’s happened before – 1969)
3. A sight-seeing helicopter could drop a line (“Hi! Have a nice trip.”)
4. Go over the Falls and not die. (It’s been done already.)
5. They could go over the Falls and land on the Maid of the Mist[i]² A tourist boat that travels below the falls. (Don’s already been saved by one boat, show some creativity.)
6. God will save them. (Puh-lease)
7. Deus ex machina (Ah, the great Greek cop out. We’re above that.)
8. No idea
9. None of the above

So Don & Pierre, committed to metric, held out for #10. They furtively looked about the dinghy. Every great lakes’ support vessel must have 4 oars, water, knife, flare and a first aid kit. Don ripped open the first aid kit to find: bandages, disinfectant, rolls of tape, nice scissors (Don quickly exchanged them with the pair in his nail kit) and a coupon worth $1.00 on the next order.

Taking the knife, Don started to scratch out a plan on the floorboard so that Pierre would be on side. Nothing like scratching and nodding to clearly and quickly agree on how to save one’s life.

“Before we start, and we have a minute here,” cautioned Don, “back in 2008 John Daly hit some golf balls, or tried to hit some golf balls, over the gorge. So keep an eye out, there might be some around here.”

“T’es completement fou,” screamed Pierre.

“Not sure what you said but I think they’re Callaways³A brand of golf ball. ,” instructed Don.

Now our daring Don, the sun blinging off his gold incisor, took charge.

“How do you say, ‘scuttle the boat’ in French?” pondered Don out loud. Not waiting for an answer, Don, knife in hand, quickly started to dig out a hole in the bottom of the dinghy.

“T’es completement fou,” screamed Pierre.

“Thank you, glad you’re on side,” complimented Don, well remembering his grade IX French and what his teacher always said to him.

The dinghy quickly took on water and started to settle and soon became lodged in the rocks just above of the falls.

Step 1 mission accomplished. Now Don (Pierre is doing the same thing only in French.) assesses how far they are from the shore.

“A good 28 yards, what do you think?”

Pierre has no idea what Don is saying and shakes his head.

“Oh, you’re right, we’re committed to metric: 20 meters.”

“Start pulling the dinghy apart,” directs Don and demonstrates by un-gunwale-ing the gunnells.

“T’es completement fou,” repeats Pierre.

“I appreciate your support but we’ve got to start hewing.”

Quickly the two desperate victims of chance start to break down the dinghy and as each piece breaks free, Don tapes the them together and adds them to the oars he’s already taped together.

With a good 25 metres of wood bound together, Don slowly directs this pole of many pieces (tempted to say a 10 foot pole but that wouldn’t be good enough nor metric) upstream so that the current doesn’t take it away.

“Here’s the plan,” Don animates with his hands and lower extremeties.

“We’ll step on the first plank and carefully start walking towards the next. The current will slowly turn the planks to shore and then we can dash across the remaining planks to safety.”

“T’es completement fou,” screams Pierre.”

“I’m glad you agree, let’s go.”

And just as Don drew it up (scratched it up), once they started to walk onto the first plank, this patchwork boardwalk caught the current and started to slowly rotate. Don, with Pierre close behind, started to dash.

Now the astute reader will start to relax, lean back in his chair even, knowing all will be well because of Don’s skill with riding the logs in the river. (Please refer to A golfer’s saga – Chapter 3).

But, and well you may ask, what about Pierre? Poor marooned Pierre, caught up in a good deed that could end his life? (should be some sort of music here)

Well, lo and behold, Pierre was a star; he almost passed Don to the shore. Hardly a splash marked his Doc Martens.

The two companions collapsed on the shore, hardly believing their good luck and watched what remained of the First Aid kit tumble over the falls.

“You know,” said Don giving Pierre a good natured slap on his back, “I never did get your name.”

“Comment?”

“Votre nom?”

“Ah, Pierre.”

“Et” … thinking hard … how do you say surname? … “votre nom famille?”

“Dallé. Pierre Dallé.”

(amen – April 2020)