Blasters: A Retrospective

Looking back, it was fitting Shea and I received the Montgomery County Golf email when we did. The two of us were sitting at bar, two beers into an impromptu day-after-Thanksgiving booze-a-thon. As we waited for others to trickle in, we opened our phones and sealed our fate; "9-holes...par 45...5,557 yards....Blasters Open..." We fired off emails to the local crew, and within minutes we had Brett signed up as our 3rd. Mikey would join up later to round out what would become an epic foursome.

Essentially what they'd done was take the par 70, 6,100-yard course at Falls Road and cut it in half....then doubled it. Rather than the first hole being a short 330 yard par 4, it was transformed into an 800-yard par 6! Holes included sharp 90 degree doglegs, blind shots over trees, forced carries over greens (many of which were in play and contained fellow blasters trying to sink putts while ducking for cover)! In a word....Blasters!!!!

See the flyer: http://www.montgomerycountygolf.com/pdf//2010%20FRGC%20Blasters%20Open.pdf

The format was an odd combination - a "shamble" they called it. Each player fired a tee shot and everyone played from the best drive. From there, each player played their own ball, and the best score was recorded. This added an additional level of difficulty - especially for our squad which included a 36+ handicapper. It also meant that birdies would be super difficult, unless you were the group that cheated (and therefore won), but we'll get to that soon enough.

Much like Myrtle, the days leading up to the Blasters could not pass fast enough.

The 4 of us felt like school girls waiting for an NKOTB concert to start. "Why can't it be here already," we'd whine over and over. I passed the time creating an elaborate google map of the golf course complete with blasters strategy....to which we did not adhere in the slightest. Of us all, Shea was easily the most excited. Blasters was scheduled to start promptly at 10 am. Shea was knocking on Brett's door a hair before 7 am, with the first documented shotgun performed at 6:56 am. I boarded the metro leaving Vienna at 7:15 and joined the shotgun festivities around 8:30 am. The Blasters was already living up to expectations. When Mike arrived I gave everyone their Blaster's day presents - a dozen florescent (yellow and orange) bridgestone e-6's....individually labeled with the team Blasters logo (arts and crafts time). After a couple more shotguns and a few shots of bourbon, we loaded our bags with CL's and lit out towards the Blasters.

When we arrived at Falls Road, we were already feeling the effects of drinking before breakfast (or DBB)...you know that mix of the not quite awake feeling you have before the 6th cup of coffee and the elevated buzz you get from drinking on an empty stomach. The placid jitters of a nervous calm. We signed in and grabbed a little something to eat at the complimentary breakfast - mainly just coffee and muffins, but it was included which was nice. Actually, I should pause here to point out just how rad Montgomery County and the Falls Road Golf Course are. Not only was this a great idea and a great deal ($60 per player, included small breakfast, range tokens, drink specials, and a couple complimentary 16 oz boozer!!), but it really showed a departure from the stuffy attitudes you get at a lot of courses. They essentially designed a tournament where golfers were encouraged to go all 'Happy Gilmore' - firing drivers from the fairway, spraying balls all over the course, and enjoying a few beers and laughs along the way. Big ups to Montgomery County Golf for encouraging some fun.

Anyway, back to the impending debauchery. The weather forecast was calling for a "moderate" December day, with temperatures in the high 30s. Instead we arrived at the course to find a frost delay (not unexpected) and snow flurries (somewhat unexpected). Brett and I decided the best course of action was to belly up to the bar and order a few pre-round boozers. We ordered a 12 pack of 16oz CLs (in addition to the dozen or so beers we had in our bags). As we cracked open a tall boy, we noticed we were the only ones drinking. A fellow Blaster approached us:

"Wow, I wasn't sure the bar was open yet."

"The bar opened at 6:56." Brett replied.

After about 45 minutes they herded us to our carts and set us off - not because the frost had burned off, but because conditions weren't going to get any better. The snow continued as we drove to our starting hole. We teed off on hole #9; a 679-yard downhill par 5. They had 2 groups starting out at each hole, and the group at the tee box with us consisted of 4 older gentlemen in their late 50's. Mikey started us off but the tee box was still frozen so hard he couldn't get a tee into the ground. One of the older dudes behind us laughed and said "does anyone have a hammer?" Not missing a beat, Brett ran over to Mike's bag and produced a bottle of Gentlemen's Jack.

"I've got the hammer right here," Brett, now king of the one-liners, said.

The old dude happily took the bottle from Brett, unscrewed the cap, and very professionally put down a shot. Blasters.

The florescent yellow and orange blasters balls seemed like a fun novelty - obnoxious but functional (which pretty much sums up everyone in the LBI), but as we made our approach shots on the first hole we learned the bright orange and yellow was going to be critical. The snow was now completely covering the greens - and they were still frozen.

It took a couple of holes before we got used to the frozen factor. Anything landing on the green took a cart path sized bounce into the air. Putting on the snow covered greens was even more of a challenge. The balls picked up snow as they rolled, making any putt over 5 feet impossible. I don't mean that as hyperbole - it wasn't possible to know which way the ball would spiral as it picked up snow, nor was it possible to know how far the ball would roll before it stopped. I make this point because not only was each player responsible for playing their own balls after the drive, but you couldn't hold the frozen greens - and you couldn't sink a putt. Facing all of this, the winning team claims to have shot 4 under...on a par 9, 5,550-yard frozen and snow covered course.....playing snow white balls. Say it with me kids; "Shenanigans!"

More on the cheating later.

Our 2nd hole was #1 - this was my favorite Blaster's hole. I started it out with a big drive down the middle of the fairway. Because of the frozen ground, the ball landed and rolled up to the green - almost 320 yards. For my next shot, I tried to play a "safe" shot based on the strategy I laid out in my Blasters course guide. I failed (terribly), but I learned an important lesson; there is no safe shot in the Blasters. Brett hit the first of several solid drivers off the deck. I believe Shea also hit a driver off the deck or maybe it was a fairway wood....either way it was a Crush over the next tee box, a little to the right but a long way. I can't remember exactly what Mike did, but I know for a fact he didn't hit the ball 200 yards to the left. Or maybe that's exactly what he did. Cue the circus music for another entertaining romp on the frozen greens, and we recorded our second par and moved onto the next hole.

I won't detail each hole, but I feel the first 3 are worthy of the electronic ink. Hole #2 (our 3rd hole) started on a par 3, with the tee shot flying over the green, over the cart path, and over the tee box on the next hole. Moreover, the flight line also traveled over the left edge of the #3 green, so someone had to drive over and fore-caddy / tell the dudes putting to kiss their asses good-bye. No one died at our hands (thankfully) but even though our shots all landed in a good position, we still came within 10 yards of the guys on the green. Again, this was by design...they designed to course to have people putting with golf balls whizzing by their heads! Blasters!

Since there was a bit of a backup at the start, we waited until our 4th hole before our 1st on course shotgun (though we'd been plowing through the beers, and had several shots of the whiskey to keep warm). The 16 oz tall boys went down hard in the cold snow, but they eventually went down. The group behind us gave us a little tip of the cap. By the time we reached "the turn" after the 5th hole, we needed more beers (even our bags were growing light).

The course only had one par 3, weighing in at 282 yards (uphill, of course). It's December, the snow is still falling, albeit a flurry, and while we've lost any comprehension of time, we figure it's probably somewhere around Shirtless o'clock.

Maybe it was the Gentleman's Jack, or the shotguns, or the CLs, or the adrenaline rush from teeing off half naked with the group behind us watching - but it really didn't feel all that cold at the time. My ball was crushed and actually finished past the hole (keep in mind the ground was still frozen solid). Unfortunately the green was elevated and my ball rolled down the hill to the right. I didn't win closest to the pin (yes, there was actually a prize for closest to the pin on a 282 yard par 3), but I did managed to get up and down for bogey - and since everyone else's tee shot landed in suck, the bogey was key. Oh, I should mention we didn't just rock the shirtless for our tee shots then cower back under our multiple layers - oh no, we honored the shirtless par 3 and rolled the entire hole. Whatever warmth I was feeling on the tee box was quickly gone as we drove off in our carts. After we holed out, we took in another of life's goodnesses - Shirtless Shotguns....again with spectators.

When we walked into the clubhouse we were feeling pretty good, both in terms of our score and our level of intoxication. We finished at +4, and while we knew we weren't going to win, we thought it was a respectable score - and it was. There were some monster numbers posted and we were towards the front of the pack. We gorged on the chili and plethora of fried goodness Falls Road laid out for us, and awaited the winning score. On the course we'd shared a beer with one of the course pros and back in the clubhouse he was giving us some insight into the groups. It turned out the course pros were playing in the tournament, and they seemed to be the team to beat (one guy racked up all of the long drive prizes). Much to our surprise, the team of course pros finished 2nd at -1, a heck of a good score considering all of the obstacles. They then announced the winning team...finishing at -4. I remember a lot of grumbling from the crowd - even the guy making the announcement made an off handed comment about them fudging their score. Brett however, decided not to reduce his objections to a dull murmur.

"Bullshit!"

"Booooooo. Boooo. Bullshit. Bullshit!"

"BULLSHIT!"

At first there were some laughs, but then it got a little awkward...except for our table. We were rolling. Because really, screw those guys! There was NO WAY they finished with that score. There was no way they could have made any long putts, and there was no way their balls got lucky enough to land close enough to the hole on frozen greens.....no way...no way.

Putting the bitterness behind, we rolled back to Brett's place. Mike, who drew the short straw of driver, opted to grab a nap on the couch. The rest of us scoured Brett's place for booze. We found some bourbon, a couple straggling beers, and a bottle of wine. They all went down. We then tried to fire up some Rock Band, but unfortunately Brett couldn't find the microphone. He looked high and low, and basically tore his place apart trying to find the mic - but it was nowhere to be found. This, as you might expect, led to rage....and Brett's rage led to Shea's and my delight.

"Brett, where's the mic?"

"I don't fucking know.....DAMMIT..."

"Brett, let's play Rock Band, where's the mic?"

"FUCK"

By this point we were in B.O.B (Black-Out Brett) territory, which meant only one thing; Jay's Saloon! We piled in Mike's car (the dude was a trooper) and rolled out to Jays. We walked in, asked the waitress for a table, took 4 steps towards said table, and then Brett called an audible; "We're going to CCR....we need boobies." Boom, 'nuff said! The waitress was in the process of cleaning off the table when she saw our about-face. "Where are you going?" She asked. "Ah," I started, "we're heading to another establishment." Seeing the look of sadness in her eyes, I did the only honorable thing I could think of...I blamed it all on Brett. "He wants to go to a nudie bar." She looked at our group disappointingly, "well, ok." She turned around and looked a little bitter. I'm not sure what kind of reaction I was looking for - maybe a firm pat on the back "oh, you rascals, get on out of here....scamps...." I started to think that I should apologize for making her clean the table then bolting, but by this time everyone else was out the door and I realized I really didn't care. Off to the nudie bar to see boobies!!

I don't know if this point was mentioned earlier, but the Blasters took place on a Friday. We'd been drinking steadily since 7 am on a weekday. Moreover, my girlfriend (my lovely and unbelievably forgiving girlfriend, who will no doubt be reading this write-up) was working until midnight. As she dropped me off at the metro that morning, she asked when I'd be home. "Not late," I said "I really don't want to be out late today....there's no way I can start drinking this early and last all day." Well, apparently I don't know my true potential, because I was certainly out well past "not late." As we walked into CCR I had a vague recollection of telling my girlfriend I'd be home before she got home. As we took our seats at the front of the stage I let out a small sigh, "well, looks like I won't be getting home before she does....it's a good thing she's so beautiful and understanding."

Blasters has now reached Myrtle status. The four of us are bellied up to the stage, tossing back boozers with one hand, and tossing out dollars with the other. As Brett and I argued back and forth as to who the strippers liked more (it was me), Shea and Mike stuffed their faces with fine grubbers (Mike was putting down some of the tasty prime rib). Somewhere in the dwindling hours of the night (it was maybe 9pm) Brett wandered off. We hoped he was getting picked up by his girlfriend for a ride home, but we later heard he was wandering through the streets of Crystal City. Thankfully, at this time of the night, he still had his clothes on. Eventually the ATM stopped giving me money, which meant I had nothing left to offer the lovely ladies. My charm wore off quickly once I lost my fistful of dollars and it was time to head home. Mike drove us back to Brett's place, and we were relieved to learn he made it home safely - although he never did find the Rock Band mic. By this time my girlfriend was off work, and rather than going straight home to rest, she agreed to meet up somewhere in Arlington to drive my drunk ass home. I piled all my stuff into Mike's ride, and as we drove away from Brett's I shed a tear knowing the Balsters had come to an end. It was a good day....no...it was a great day. The Blasters offered a glimpse of what lay ahead for Myrtle. A preview of shirtlessness, boozers and boobies - drunken golf in the snow is topped only by drunken golf in the sun. We showed up to the rendezvous and jumped out to grab my clubs from the trunk...where I then emptied the contents of my golf bag onto Wilson Blvd.

Blasters...