Loss equals dip

Ever tried chewing tobacco? I did, once, when I was 21 years old. The gag reflex, feeling of rotting gums and the dizziness convinced me that I was to never do it again. That is, unless on one sunny day at Neshobe Golf Club, it was part of a bet.

I lost the bet, and I had to attempt once again the glorious nature of chew. It was unpleasant, but the loss stunk even more.

You know those rounds where you want to loose, but for whatever reason, your competitor won’t let you. A barrage of doubles and your three down, only to be revived with your opponents own barrage. Its like a yoyo filled with excrement. Each time you sling it down to the lowest point you think that’s it, its dead, only to shoot straight back up, spraying you with a hint of feces (aka shitty golf) on its way back to neutral.

This round ended on 18, falling one down after I left a tying putt short. It was fitting really, and all of what I deserved, but the chew after made it all the more real.

I am proud to say that I did not vomit this time. But having to sit there with this dip in my mouth, while the juices percolated to the top until I had to find some type of receptacle to spit it into reminded me of all the things that golf has brought me.

Embarrassment, anger, exercise, sun and now, I can add tooth decay.

I’m so proud.

P.S. Play Neshobe, it’s a great track.