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)