Sorrow on the Third Hole

Part 3 - Part 1 posted on August 12, 2009

After a night of tossing and turning in angry frustration Hugo Chavez, The Mighty Wind, had a plan. If these grass cutters, these brainwashed slaves to the capitalist running dogs, wanted a fight they would get one. Summoning the heads of the army and air force into his office, he pointed to a detailed topographical map of the Caracas Country Club:

"Here, near the green on the second hole and along the beginning of the third fairway, are the areas fortified by these roaches, these groundskeepers, who would stop the revolution so they can lick the hand of the Yankee loving imperialist duffers. Your mission is to eliminate these areas and everyone on them, while preserving the second tee, the third green and the upper half of the third fairway. In one stroke I will break the back of the counterrevolution and combine the second and third holes,
reducing the Caracas Country Club to a seventeen hole course. Then when I retire, well of course I will never actually retire, the Venezuelan people will always need me as dictator for life, but when I start to look for other interests, I will be able to shoot lower scores."

In the Greens keepers stronghold behind the second green, Renaldo looked as grim as the smog ridden Caracas dawn. The elation of yesterday's victory was fading fast as the reality of the odds - a fleet of lawnmowers facing a real army led by an utterly ruthless egomaniac who would snuff them out like a candle just to avoid embarrassment - set in. To make matters worse, Bertina, the heroic beer cart girl hurt in the surprise attack on the first hole, needed a doctor badly. Renaldo passed among his men, arranging for one group to carry Bertina out on a stretcher improvised from an old blanket and two Big Bertha drivers and releasing the men in small groups with instructions to slip quietly through the woods towards the fourth hole, then disperse and head for home.

Renaldo gave his final instructions and left with the group carrying Bertina. The last three greens keepers were still waiting patiently when the sky began to buzz. Six eyes looked skyward, seeing nothing but a gray haze against a backdrop of gray clouds. The buzzing grew louder, then the first plane appeared just as the woods erupted - light and sound crashed in every direction as trees flew apart and turned into projectiles. The planes kept coming, wave after wave, turning back for another run and another, and the woods and the second green and part of the third fairway and the three greens keepers disappeared.

Renaldo looked back in horror, but what had he expected? The Mighty Wind was nothing if not a predictable bully. Even the greens keepers who had made a successful retreat would never be safe, the records of the Club would give Chavez their names, addresses, families. Renaldo realized there would be no simple end. With a sigh he fished his cell phone from his back pocket, and fumbled to pull a scrap of paper from the innermost compartment of his bulky wallet. In the dim light he looked back and forth between scrap and cell phone, dialling carefully. After several seconds he spoke quietly into the phone:

"Mr. Woods, sorry to call so early, hope I didn't wake you.
...................................

Glad to hear the first nine went so well. Tiger, I hate to
bother you, but I really, really need help here."

Chavez Surprised on Second

Part 2 - Part 1 posted on August 12, 2009

The Chavez strike force encountered shocking resistance on the 200 yard par 3 second hole of the Caracas Country Club yesterday. The special forces team had used the night hours to import a fleet of inflatable assault craft on which they expected to sail smoothly over the piranha infested water hazard to an easy landing on the beach, the large bunker surrounding the terraced green. Groundskeepers, inspired by the beer cart girl's spirited defense of the first hole yesterday, had something else in mind. Apparently this band of brothers was more worried about losing their paycheck than maintaining solidarity with The Mighty Wind Who Would Rule Venezuela For Life. Working under cover of darkness the greens team filled the greenside bunker with quick lime. The Chavez forces paused in confusion as the first wave waded ashore into the bunker, then recoiled in horror as their boots began to burn. After allowing the first twinges of doubt to blossom in the strike force, Renaldo, head greenskeeper at the Club, turned them into fear with the wave of a towel that brought a fleet of speeding attack mowers out from their hiding place behind the green. The mowers swept relentlessly down on the strke force, never slowing, racing through the panicked soldiers like so many blades of tall grass on a beeline to the beached prows of the assault craft. As mower blades met rubber the craft began to deflate violently, launched back into the water hazard by the jet propulsion of compressed air suddenly rushing through puncture wounds. The special forces teams still on the boats were suddenly knee deep in water, piranha infested water, and sinking fast. The mowers circled back on the beached assailants, the engines roar drowning the screams from the boats. On this day the Chavez forces would not triumph. Renaldo, taller and younger than most of the men on his crews, had grown up on the golf course as an assistant groundskeeper's son in Southern California and returned to his homeland for the chance to become head groundskeeper at a prestigious club. Now he exhaled deeply for the first time in hours, relieved that his plan had succeeded, the Club was safe, for now. The Mighty Wind could only roar in frustrated rage.

Chavez Attacks Caracas Country Club

Forces commanded by The Mighty Wind - Generalissimo Hurricane Hugo Chavez - announced victory in the first battle of the recently declared war on the Caracas Country Club. This stirring defense of the proletariat (occasionally described as a sneak attack, but only by colonialist lackeys reporting from outside the boundaries of Venezuela) began only yesterday, but the Venezuelan troops have already captured the first hole, a par four playing 380 yards from the white tees with a line of trees on the left and bunkers on the right. The Chavez strike force, an elite squad of special forces personnel, overcame fierce resistance from two fairway bunkers, a steeply sloped, closely shaved green and Bertina, an attractive teen operating a beer cart as a summer job, to reach the green in less than five minutes. Bertina, who's blond hair and blue eyes proved a Dutch ancestor would appear if her family tree were shaken hard enough, was so startled by the attack that she veered her brews cruiser directly at the leading edge of the commando force. Vincente, the dark, lithe commander of the strike force, fretted as she sped straight at him. Generalissimo Hugo would not hesitate to bury her with a burst of automatic fire, but Vincente was not Generalissimo Hugo. He turned his humvee directly toward Bertina and began firing, far over her head. At the last second, Bertina swerved, glancing off the corner of Vincente's jeep and spinning to a stop. Bertina was stunned, but only for a moment. In the confusion created by scores of spraying beer cans she raced to the tree line near the first green. Vincente looked up from the melee created as his soldiers chased the rolling beer cans, saw Bertina still yards away from the trees and thought about chasing her down. With a small smile he looked down again and began to restore his men to order with a string of carefully selected oaths. As dusk fell, Hugo's Hombres established a command post and rested for the night. The second hole, a par three on a peninsula jutting into piranha infested waters, would present unique challenges to the forces of The Mighty Wind.