Watching golf on TV last weekend, I was reminded of my golf game some 25 years ago.
My errant, erratic and erotic golf game, that is. “Erotic” is seldom used in describing a man’s golf game, I know, but in a court case where my game was in question, eroticism was implied in my defense.
According to papers filed in county court, a Pentecostal church-going woman held in the highest regard – who happened to be our town’s postmaster – wasn’t impressed with me or my golf game.
In addition to wanting my bar closed, she claimed in her court papers that her car, the only vehicle on Main Street one July afternoon, was the target of my vindictiveness and errant golf game.
In the police report, she told how a golf shot of mine, a practice shot from an empty lot adjacent the bar, put a dent in the back fender of her car after it ricocheted off a street curb before taking dead aim at her car parked across the street in front of the post office.
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