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 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.

Backspin

Tehran Says It Has Designed A Smart Bomb - The initial reaction from as Good As News is fantastic, but very surprising, news. Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is goofy, but he is sometimes clever. Wouldn't he realize that any truly smart bomb would make a u-turn immediately after launch and explode in his lap? Iran can't just launch this thing, they need to brainwash it first. There must be more to this story. Hugo Chavez, President for Life of Venezuela, and the Cheech to Ahmdinejad's Chong, announced recently that he was adjusting time by one-half hour. Perhaps Chavez plans to reverse the Earth's rotation momentarily (think Superman resurrecting Lois Lane - although in "real" science fiction, you would rotate forward at a speed exceeding the speed of light to reverse time). This rotational adjustment would disrupt the rest of the world's guidance systems, but certainly Hugo would share the details of his time plan with his pal Mahmoud. So, with the appropriate adjustments to the targeting coordinates, Tehran would not just have a smart bomb, it would have the world's only working smart bomb. Somehow As Good As News will sleep soundly tonight, it just doesn't seem like Cheech and Chong are up to this....yet.

Tennis Everyone? Older Players Lose Swagger but Gain Swag - It's not just the Earth that can spin backwards, warping chronological expectations. Each year hundreds of tennis seniors (like 86 year old Lucy Dettmer, pictured above) get endorsement deals with equipment manufactures. OK, Lucy's getting free rackets, not making millions, but I'm still impressed. In fact I'm junking my plan to win the Head of the Charles Men's Grand Master Single in 2033 and concentrating full time on tennis. With focus and dedication, I think I can get a free pair of shoes by the time I'm 75.