Part 1 – The Front Nine of Fools
Let’s be honest: golf is the most beautiful, maddening, soul-breaking thing a human can do with pants on. It’s calm, it’s peaceful, it’s good for your health … until you tee off next to one of the five idiots that roam every course on the planet. You’ve seen them. You’ve played with them. And if you haven’t—sorry, bud—you are one of them.
Grab a beer, buckle the cart strap (because you know someone’s going to floor it), and welcome to the great natural habitat of the Idiot Golfer.
1️⃣ The Range Hero — “Mr. I Was Crushing It on the Range”
You’ll recognize this guy before the first tee because he’s holding court at the driving range, dropping balls like he’s about to qualify for Augusta. “Man, I was absolutely nuking it this morning,” he says. Translation: he made solid contact exactly twice, and both balls hit the back net after bouncing off someone’s bag.
He’s got the look: glove tucked in his belt like he’s on tour, alignment sticks pointing north, south, and emotionally sideways. He’s already sweating through his quarter-zip before anyone’s even said “ready golf.”
Fast-forward to the first tee box: snap-hook into the trees.
He reloads, muttering, “That never happens on the range.” No sh*t, Brad — there’s no fairway, pressure, or audience on the range.
Every hole is the same scene. He’s a living physics experiment: infinite energy, zero results. He’ll insist on analyzing his swing after every miss, pulling out slow-mo videos, saying things like “my plane’s too steep” while you’re silently praying he means the flight home.
You can spot him later on the 7th tee arguing that he “just needs to slow it down,” then proceeding to swing harder than a nightclub bouncer. His divots look like crime scenes. By the back nine, he’s exhausted, broken, and halfway through a self-diagnosed “swing rebuild.”
How to survive him: agree with everything. “Yep, tempo, bro. Totally tempo.” Then crush your drive down the middle just to watch his soul leave his body.
2️⃣ The Rules Guy — “Golf’s Unpaid Police Force”
If golf ever had a hall monitor, this guy would live in it. He’s the walking rulebook who thinks every round is the U.S. Open. You’ll know him because the moment someone says “nice shot,” he’s already quoting the Rules of Golf, 2023 edition.
You mark your ball two inches closer to the hole by accident? He’s there.
You drop on the wrong side of a cart path? He’s calling for a tribunal.
He once tried to assess a two-stroke penalty on his own grandma for grounding her club in the bunker.
The Rules Guy never breaks character. He’s the kind of lunatic who keeps a laminated scorecard protector and a permanent marker labeled “official.” He’ll call out your foot wedge on a friendly Saturday scramble like he’s protecting the sanctity of the Masters.
He always says “It’s not personal, it’s the rules,” right before making it incredibly personal. One time he actually refused to concede a two-inch putt in a $5 skins game because “that’s not in the spirit of competition.”
His bag always has a rangefinder, a backup rangefinder, and a mysterious pouch labeled “penalty markers.” He knows the difference between yellow and red hazard lines like it’s classified intelligence.
The irony? He’s usually terrible at golf. The man hasn’t broken 90 since the Bush administration, but he’ll tell you exactly which drop option you should have taken after topping it 14 yards.
How to recognize him early: he says things like, “Technically, you can’t…” before every conversation.
How to deal with him: nod, smile, and then casually mention that you play “winter rules all year.” Watch him twitch.
3️⃣ The Drunk Driver — “Golf Cart or Go-Kart?”
Ah yes, the hero we neither deserve nor want. The Drunk Driver believes the golf cart is an extension of his personality — and that personality is chaos.
You know the type. The round starts with a beer. By the third hole he’s on his fifth. By the turn, he’s trading swing thoughts for life advice no one asked for. His cart driving style can only be described as Tokyo Drift meets mid-life crisis.
He doesn’t use the brake pedal; he just strategically crashes into things to stop.
Fairways? Optional. Cart paths? A suggestion. Greens? He’ll “just roll across real quick.”
There’s always that moment he yells “Hang on!” before flooring it toward the next tee like he’s escaping a bank robbery. Your beer’s airborne, your clubs are clattering, and he’s laughing like a man who’s forgotten insurance exists.
He’s also the guy who keeps insisting, “Drinking helps my tempo.” Maybe for the first six holes. After that, his backswing looks like he’s swatting bees and his follow-through nearly takes out a squirrel.
You’ll find him by the 15th green trying to sink a six-footer while holding a Coors in one hand and his putter backwards in the other. He’s got grass stains on his shorts, tire marks on his shoe, and no recollection of how the scorecard got wet.
By the time you hit 18, he’s declaring himself “the people’s champ” even though he lost three wedges, two balls, and his dignity somewhere near the water hazard.
How to recognize him early: he asks, “Do they sell tallboys at the halfway hut?” before you’ve even teed off.
How to handle him: ride separate carts. Always. If he insists on driving, make peace with your family first.
4️⃣ The Emotional Wreck — “Golf Is Pain Made Human”
Golf’s a mental game, sure — but this guy turns it into a full-blown therapy session. The Emotional Wreck is the one who takes every shot personally, like the ball insulted his mother.
It starts harmless. He misses a short putt, mutters something dark. Misses another, slaps his thigh. Then — boom — meltdown. Clubs fly, profanity echoes, and suddenly he’s pacing like he’s trying to out-walk the trauma.
You’ll see him talking to himself in the mirror-finish of his driver:
“Come on, man, you’re better than this!”
No, he’s not. He’s exactly this.
He’ll blame the wind, the greens, his shoes, cosmic interference — anything but his swing. And when the rage really sets in, he enters the denial phase: “I don’t even care anymore.” Two holes later, he cares deeply — screaming “F***!” loud enough for the next group to clap in sympathy.
He’s the reason golf courses invest in club-retrieval poles for water hazards.
How to recognize him: his bag rattles with more broken tees than clubs.
How to deal with him: compliment any shot he hits halfway decent. It’ll save you both therapy money.
5️⃣ The Human Windmill — “Swing Hard or Die Trying”
Every foursome has that one guy who thinks power equals distance. This is the Human Windmill — the one who treats every shot, chip, and putt like he’s trying to launch it into orbit.
He’s got no concept of tempo. His practice swings generate enough breeze to cool the group behind you. And every drive sounds like a gunshot followed by the quiet thud of a ball disappearing into the neighbouring fairway.
He says things like, “I just need to loosen up.” Translation: “I’m about to overswing myself into physical therapy.”
He’ll finish 18 holes with more torque than a NASCAR engine and a score somewhere between tragic and biblical.
How to spot him: he warms up with CrossFit moves, grunts like he’s dead-lifting a Buick, and insists his driver “just needs to open up.”
How to handle him: stay far away during his downswing. OSHA would agree.
Part 2 – The Back Nine of Idiocy
By now, you’ve survived the front nine with only minor emotional trauma, a hangover that’s blooming early, and the creeping realization that the phrase “a good walk spoiled” was written by a man who met these five idiots.
Welcome to the back nine — the point of the day where patience dies, balls vanish into oblivion, and everyone pretends they’re “still having fun.”
Hole 10: The Collective Breakdown
There’s a funny moment in every round when all five of these morons seem to merge into one glorious disaster. The Range Hero’s still chasing his “perfect tempo.” The Rules Guy is policing divots. The Drunk Driver has commandeered the cart and is playing music from 2011 at a volume that makes geese evacuate the pond.
And the Emotional Wreck? He’s currently kneeling on the fairway, staring at the ball he chunked, whispering, “Why do I do this to myself?”
Meanwhile, The Human Windmill is practicing full swings two feet from your ear.
It’s chaos, it’s hilarious, it’s painful — it’s golf.
6️⃣ Bonus Idiot: The Gearhead Guru
Let’s be real: there’s always that one guy who shows up with more gadgets than NASA. Rangefinder, launch monitor, glove dryer, swing analyzer, Bluetooth tee marker — the works.
He spent three grand on “custom clubs,” but forgot to spend five minutes on lessons. Every miss hits the same tree, but he’ll tell you the data looks good.
You ask how far it is to the pin. Instead of a number, he gives you a speech:
“Well, slope’s playing 153, adjusted for wind it’s 147 carry, but my spin rate’s up today so I’ll choke down half an inch.”
Buddy, just hit the ball. It’s a 9-iron, not a space launch.
Halfway through the round, his fancy watch dies, his phone overheats, and he’s suddenly lost without technology. He’s eyeballing the yardage like the rest of us peasants now, muttering about firmware updates between duffs.
How to spot him: he says “dispersion pattern” unironically.
How to handle him: tell him you play by feel. It’ll make him sweat.
Hole 12: Group Dynamics Go Nuclear
By this point, golf etiquette has left the building. Someone’s driving the cart through the rough. Someone else is putting out of turn. The Rules Guy’s blood pressure is in stroke territory, and The Drunk Driver is in the middle of a TikTok dance by the green.
You try to stay zen, but golf’s dark magic is creeping in. You’re one lip-out away from becoming the next Emotional Wreck yourself.
Then it happens — that one perfect shot. A buttery 7-iron that lands pin high, two feet from the cup. The whole group cheers like you just won the Open.
That’s the thing about golf. Even surrounded by idiots, one sweet connection and suddenly life makes sense again.
Five minutes later you three-putt it and life makes no sense at all.
Hole 14: The Beer Cart Truce
Every round has its low point. For this group, it’s the 14th — the “beer cart confession booth.”
The Drunk Driver flirts with the cart girl like he’s in a rom-com written by someone with a restraining order. The Emotional Wreck buys shots to “change the vibes.” The Rules Guy orders a Gatorade “for hydration” and immediately starts keeping track of who owes who for drinks.
The Range Hero buys a protein bar and starts talking about “pre-round nutrition.” Nobody asked.
Ten minutes later, you’re all on the tee again, slightly buzzed, slightly unhinged, and dangerously overconfident.
The Human Windmill steps up, takes a full rip, and somehow tops it six inches. Silence. Then laughter. The kind of laughter that heals.
That’s golf — a game that humbles everyone equally.
Hole 16: Existential Crisis Corner
By now, the Drunk Driver’s lost his phone, the Emotional Wreck’s lost his will to live, and the Rules Guy’s lost count.
Everyone’s sunburned, dehydrated, and pretending they still have energy for two more holes. The Range Hero’s talking about switching instructors mid-round.
You look around and realize: this is the dumbest sport ever invented. You’re spending five hours chasing a ball smaller than your patience, surrounded by grown men who act like toddlers with titanium sticks.
And yet… you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Hole 17: The Great Lie
No matter how bad the round’s been, Hole 17 is where golfers start rewriting history.
“Honestly, I’ve been hitting it well today.”
No, you haven’t. You’ve been spraying it like a fire hose.
“I just need to fix one thing and I’ll be good.”
You need to fix everything, including your attitude and your bank account.
The Human Windmill is claiming he’s “due” for a birdie. The Drunk Driver says he’s “only one off his best.” The Rules Guy’s triple-checking cards like it’s the IRS audit.
Meanwhile, you’re staring at your glove tan and wondering if golf is a sport, a cult, or an endurance test for mental illness.
Hole 18: The Big Finish
The final hole — where hope and delusion collide.
Everyone’s pretending this drive matters, like it’s a major championship instead of a $20 match that’s already been mathematically decided.
The Range Hero takes one last “feel” swing, blasts it into the next county, and immediately says, “That’s the one I’ve been looking for all day.”
The Rules Guy refuses to give a putt for triple bogey. The Emotional Wreck lips out again and physically lies down on the green. The Human Windmill takes a victory pose for a ball that’s still airborne — and yes, it goes OB.
The Drunk Driver’s already talking about “next weekend” while backing the cart up onto the path at Mach 3.
And then… silence. Clubs back in the bag. Scorecards scribbled with lies. You walk off 18 with the same thought every golfer has: Why the hell do I do this to myself?
The 19th Hole: Where Idiots Become Legends
The round is over, but the storytelling begins. Beer in hand, chips on the table, and suddenly everyone’s Tiger Woods again.
That 9 you took on Hole 6? Now it’s a “tough par.”
That shank into the parking lot? “Just testing the fade.”
The lost ball? “No, no, it was in bounds — totally.”
The Rules Guy’s explaining stableford points to people who stopped listening ten minutes ago. The Drunk Driver’s buying another round because he “owes you one.” The Emotional Wreck’s calm again — until he remembers his putter’s still floating in the pond.
And The Range Hero? He’s already talking about hitting the range tomorrow to “dial it in.”
Golfers are delusional, passionate, hilarious creatures. We’ll spend hours chasing a ball through mud, sand, and heartbreak — and then sign up to do it again next week.
Final Thoughts from the Cart
At the end of the day, golf isn’t really about the score. It’s about the stories — the laughs, the cursing, the tiny victories that keep us coming back.
Every course has its own cast of idiots, and every round is just a new episode in the world’s most frustrating sitcom.
So next time you’re out there, remember:
- The Range Hero keeps the dream alive.
- The Rules Guy keeps chaos organized.
- The Drunk Driver keeps it entertaining.
- The Emotional Wreck keeps it human.
- The Human Windmill keeps it loud.
And you? You’re the lucky bastard who gets to watch it all from the cart, cold beer in hand, trying not to crash while laughing your ass off.
Because golf may be stupid… but it’s our kind of stupid.
Growing the game, one slice at a time.
Yours truly,
Socially Out Of Bounds (SOB)
Socially Out Of Bounds 
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