The U.S. Open Golf Tournament is being played this week at par five distance from my front door, and this is surprising news to most people. The fabled Merion Golf Club is not in Merion at all, a neighborhood where much of the blood is so blue you could use to sign the Declaration of Independence, but rather directly adjacent to modest Havertown PA, where I live.
Many feel this is the greatest thing that's ever happened around these parts, but I'm not so sure. Traffic is jammed, roads are closed, and restaurants and businesses operating at SRO capacity. What's so Open about all that?
Still, opportunities abound to pick up extra money in and around the tournament, and some folks are renting their homes out for the week to tourney attendees looking to save money on a hotel. Since my house is so close to the course, I decided to jump on that option myself, but there was a problem. Most people renting out homes find someplace else to live for the week, but I frankly can't afford that.
So, me and Mr. and Mrs. Frank Lumpkin from Sioux Falls ND are spending the week together at my humble abode in humble Havertown!
"Hey, Frank! Clara! You guys going over to the course today?" I hollered yesterday morning, sitting at the breakfast table in my stained blue bathrobe and several days' old underwear.
"Yes, Perry," said Clara. "That's kind of the reason why we're here, you might remember, to see the Open."
"I knew that!" I replied. "Say, you guys think you could pick me up some pop-tarts on the way back? No rush!"
They seem like such a nice couple, the Lumpkins, but frankly I didn't know how to plan for their stay beyond doing a little light dusting, cleaning the crapper, and stocking up on Miracle-Whip. You see, the Lumpkins are of the gentile persuasion, and I wasn't sure of their tastes, especially when it comes to alcohol.
"Since you guys aren't Jewish," I said to them, "I figured maybe you like to drink it up. What kind of booze should I get for you?
"Perry, neither my wife nor I drink alcohol."
"Go figure. And I do drink! Hah, so much for stereotypes!"
The Lumpkins have been spending all day and a lot of the night over at Merion, so they're hardly ever at the house. I can't figure out why they're never around, except that these two must love golf almost as much as Tiger Woods loves bimbos!
"Say, Frank, are you guys any good at golf yourselves?" I asked the two of them yesterday evening. "After all, at your ages and with Clara's stout build, it's got to be difficult to get around an entire 18 holes!"
"Perry, I am a scratch golfer, and Clara is a 7 handicap."
"I'm not bad at golf either," I said. "On the 16th at City Line Mini, I can get it through the windmill in under three strokes! Get it? The Windmill! LOL!"
Today the Lumpkins announced they'd be moving over to a hotel for the rest of the Open. They don't even want back any part of the money they paid for the rest of the week.
Once again, go figure!
"Sorry to see you go, guys," I shouted to the Lumpkins as they hastily packed their bags and sped off to a waiting cab. "Should you see Tiger Woods, please tell him there's a room open if he's interested. Free Pop-Tarts!"
"Oh, and Frank, Clara? Make sure and tell Tiger that at La Maison Block, bimbos R welcome!"
|Sure I can keep my mouth shut, big guy!|
We have an event here called Bikes, Blues, and BBQ that jams up NW Arkansas for a week at a time. I have considered renting out rooms, but Connie doesn't want we entertaining women in our home who are dressed in nothing but tattoos and leather. Now, I wonder what we're going to do with all the pop tarts I bought for the occasion.
Can you Fedex 'em here, Russell? Got a feeling I'm going to be hearing from Ole Mr. Woods anytime now!
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