Editorial by Bobby Tingle

My brother-in-law, Steve, is a native of California, so it is not entirely his fault as he is a product of his environment. He is a nice guy, he is married to my sister and he introduced me to the golf goddesses. He did not mean well when he made the introduction. I attribute this evil moment in his life to his being a product of his native state.

Steve, my sister and a couple of her kids made the trek from sunny California a summer ago to spend time with our mom and my crew. Poor Steve had to endure far too many projects and expeditions that were anything but manly. I was working while they visited and his only recourse for entertainment was to tag along with my mom and sister but he survived.

To get some relief, he urged me to go out on two adventures on the golf course. We lived across the river, over the ominous bridge, so we made our way to the ‘Babe’ for our torture.

Let me set the record straight at this point, I am not a golfer. I do not own golf clubs. I do not want to be a golfer. I do not want to own golf clubs.

Steve, upon hearing these sentiments, over seventeen holes of golf, just laughed. As I said he is from California, we have to make an allowance for that. He is tainted.

During the week of his visit, we made two trips to the ‘Babe’.

On the first trip we managed to get through all eighteen holes. By the time we arrived to the eighteenth hole, I was so disgusted and so frustrated that I declared it was my last trip ever.

I teed up, swung that golf club, hit the ball and looked up. At that point I wondered who hit that ball that was going straight down the fairway, not slicing or dicing or hooking or crooking or whatever they call it on the course.

Then he did it. Behind me Steve began chanting, ‘You’ll be back, you’ll be back’.

The look on my face prompted his response.

“The chant you hear are the golf goddesses calling you back,” he told me with a straight face.

He explained all you need is one good drive or one good putt for every eighteen holes to hear their voice calling you back.

Fortunately, Steve spends more time in California than in South East Texas where he seeks to torture me on a golf course.

Sunset Grove Country Club, according to golfnow.com offers “terrific views and challenging play for golfers at every skill level.”

The course was built in 1923, the architect was Donald Ross, the season is year round and the greens are Bermuda grass. There are eighteen holes, par is 71, the length is 6,394 yards, slope is 117 and it has a rating of 70.4. Walking is allowed, metal spikes are not and proper attire is required. They offer carts, pull-carts and clubs for rent. A teaching pro is available along with a practice putting green but no driving range.

I could not find any information about the presence of golf goddesses on the Sunset Grove Country Club course. But, I am convinced they are there. If you stand at the entrance of the restaurant and look out over the golf course it looks beautiful and inviting. Don’t let that fool you. I know better, there are golf goddesses, just waiting for the opportunity to lure you back with one good stroke out of who knows how many bad ones.

I bet golfers at Sunset Grove have heard the goddesses’ chant. It is a beautiful course. A renowned architect designed it. The fairways, greens, trees, ponds and landscape are inviting.

But beware the goddesses.

Bobby Tingle is publisher of The Orange Leader. You can reach him at www.orangeleader.com.