SI Vault
My Course, My Rules
Rick Reilly
April 10, 2000
Did you hear about the guy in Chattanooga who won a Big Game lottery jackpot worth $60 million and went out and bought himself a golf course?
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April 10, 2000

My Course, My Rules

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?No practice swings. We've seen your practice swing. It's slow, graceful and bears absolutely no resemblance to the hideous chop you end up using, so why bother?

?No cell phones, either. There's a $10 fine for incoming calls, $25 for outgoing. One thing we don't need on our backswing is you discussing the freaking Acme account.

?Take a caddie or a cart, but we think you'll like the caddies. They get a $20 bonus if they get you home in three hours, and they usually do. That's partly because they have you hitting from the women's tees.

?Mandatory betting. What do you think this is, the Walla Walla First Presbyterian Four-ball? As our head pro, Two Down, likes to say, "If you're not betting, you're just going on a very long walk in very ugly pants." And if you get a little upside down in your wagers, don't worry. Two Down gives fast and friendly auto appraisals.

?No duck-hooking into the adjacent fairway just to stop the beverage-cart girl. One comes with every foursome.

?No plumb-bobbing without a Ph.D. in physics. Like anybody knows how to do it anyway. If a caddie sees you plumb-bobbing, he'll confiscate your putter and make modern art out of it.

?No pacing off yardage. Does it really matter whether you're 230 or 231 yards from the hole? That's still three seven-irons and a canoe for you.

?No out-of-bounds. White stakes are for albino vampires. If you can find your ball, hit it. If you can't find it, hit it from where you think you would've found it. If you can't decide where you would've found it, return to the cart, reach into the glove box, pull out the complimentary copy of Quilting for Fun and Profit and begin reading.

?If it's within the leather, it's good. If it's within the Bertha, it's good. If it's something that a Bruneian slave would give the Sultan, it's good.

After the round, come on in for All You Can Pour Night. The hot-tub massages are free, the cigars are smuggled, and the mook who answers the phone never heard of you.

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