Living on course requires some concessions
The old saying, or a derivative of it, goes, "Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it." Let’s alter it a bit: "Be careful what you aspire to materialistically; it might be expensive." Here’s the scoop on me:
–The first lost tooth: get wealthy with the tooth fairy.
–The shiny new bicycle at Christmas: the racy red one, a Schwinn.
–The first sports car: a 1964 Corvette fastback with the 327.
–The first motorcycle, a Triumph Tiger Cub: a 200-cc, 12-horsepower screamer.
–The first dream one-week vacation using a passport: foreign languages and all.
–The first sailboat, a 27-foot Catalina with the dinette layout: docked at Oxnard Harbor, Calif., within walking distance of The Whale’s Tail restaurant.
–Ah … that first taste of Dom Pérignon champagne: the nectar of the gods.
–A home on the golf course: get closer to what you love – live it!
Owning a home on the golf course has a certain prestige: big backyard, for sure; perfect lawn; dramatic views everywhere, especially at sunrise and sunset. Wildlife abounds: rabbits, roadrunners, squirrels, a dozen different species of birds and an occasional coyote that saunters across the fairway. Everything’s at peace.
Neighbors are well-behaved, quiet and respectful of the community. Pride of ownership.
You’ve done it. I’ve done it. Standing in the tee box, a sweet swing produces a hook and is heading straight toward the houses on the left. You hold your breath, hoping to hear silence. Sometimes you do, and sometimes you don’t …
The first time, it really startled us. "What the (expletive) was that?" I thought. It was the sound of glass breaking in the family room. Glass was everywhere, buffered only by the miniblinds covering the window. A bright yellow golf ball on the ground.
Rushing outside, we discovered a lone golfer speeding down the path, most likely to inflict more damage on the next hole. No wave, no recognition, apparently no conscience. Cost: $260 and a three-day wait period.
The second time was more intense. The errant shot rifled through an upper decorative window. The sound was like a bomb. Glass fragments flew in all directions. My mind was blank; I couldn’t identify that sound. The only clue was a Titleist Pro V ball slowly settling down near the sofa.
That golfer drove up to the back and asked, "Did you see where my ball landed?" I pointed to the window. ‘No (expletive)," he exclaimed. "I’ll take care of it. That shot really got away from me." Cost: $0 and a renewed trust in the golfing brotherhood.
Another unique incident took place soon thereafter. Enjoying coffee early one weekend morning, a ball ricocheted around the backyard and finally stopped with no damage.
Then another bounced into the yard and settled under the fig tree. Not five minutes later, a yellow Callaway ball thudded off the stucco and was restrained by the healthy ficus vine near the picture window.
Later that morning, I purchased a helmet.
Early mornings are no cakewalk, either. Golf machinery starts when the sun goes up. One of those grass-cutting, sand trap-raking, soil-aerating machines seemingly is outside the bedroom window every morning. We don’t need an alarm clock anymore.
And the early golfers are a treat as well. You wake up to find twosomes peering into your backyard trying to rescue a golf ball. You learn you need to dress a little more modestly when going to the kitchen.
There are some upsides to the situation, however. After living there for two months, I’ve collected 57 golf balls. I figure at $15 a dozen, I could sell them to golfers and turn a profit. Tax-free, too.
An over-the-fence concession stand featuring fine wines might work in this upscale golf course. A little sign, fake crystal goblets and a healthy pour would enable golfers to finally get wine to enjoy on the links. Nuts? Maybe.
Here’s the roundup of the rest of my whims:
–The Tooth Fairy? A lousy quarter.
–That shiny red bike? A broken arm two days after the training wheels came off.
–The Corvette? Stolen two months later while attending a movie at the Hollywood Cinerama Dome in California.
–The Tiger Cub motorcycle? An over-the-handlebar accident with multiple bumps and bruises and a totaled bike.
–The vacation? Great week while it lasted and then two weeks fighting the "revenge."
–The sailboat? It’s true what they say about boats: It’s the second-greatest time of your life when you sell the darn money pit.
–The ever-loving Dom Pérignon? Really delicious until the Visa bill arrives and an empty bottle goes in the trash.
–The golf course home? Wouldn’t have it any other way.
Cost of a net to protect the home: $3,000. HOA reaction: priceless.
John Asay is a longtime golfer and local freelance writer. Contact him at jasay@reviewjournal.com.
