Anyone spare $20?

S.J. CAHN

There isn’t a single bank in Irvine.

Not one. No ATM. No branch in a grocery store.

Nothing.

I know that’s hard to believe -- just as it may be hard to

understand what that possibly could have to do with golf.

Bear with me. I ask only two things: Trust me this is golf-related

and believe me, there’s not a single bank in Irvine.

I found this truth out last month when I tried to outsmart myself

before playing a round of golf at Strawberry Farms Golf Club. I had

$11 on me, and I needed $20 to get in the game, so to speak. And,

given I usually play at Costa Mesa Golf & Country Club where it’s

cash at the starter’s, I was a bit worried I needed money just to tee

off.

So I checked online, saw that the number of bank branches between

the Daily Pilot office and the course added up to more than my 24

handicap and headed out, figuring there was absolutely no reason to

drive out of my way to where I knew there was an ATM.

Three U-turns, 30 minutes and one cell phone call to my wife that

mainly consisted of my yelling, “I don’t know where I am,” every time

she tried to help me later, I was lost in a hilly area called Turtle

Rock.

There are no banks there, either.

At this point, I was furious at my own stupidity and cursing

myself --something I’m quite good at, very creative, but can’t

replicate here. I also was beginning to mutter, “I don’t even want to

play now.”

Then, I realized my option was going back to the office. So I

U-turned yet again on Turtle Rock Drive, heading back toward

University Drive and the course.

After turning into Strawberry Farms, I raced past signs that might

have said, “Slow down” or “Stop” and finally parked my car.

I was running late and, oh, was I mad at this point, irrationally

so, the kind of anger that can end with golf club after golf club

flung into a water hazard.

I raced up to the driving range, where I was greeted by Pilot ad

rep

Ned Bondie with a calming, “Aren’t you playing?”

I am, I told him, if he could answer me two questions first: Could

someone lend me $20 and did the course take credit cards?

I should pause at this point and explain that this Wednesday golf

involves a group of Orange County businessmen and is organized by

Pilot publisher Tom Johnson. There’s about 50 guys total, and usually

15 or so come out to play every other week.

Tom, I think, took pity on me and added my name to the list.

Ned told me that, of course, the course takes credit cards, and

Balboa Island’s Bill Pierpoint, spotted me the $20. (Thanks, again,

Bill).

“Get in there and check in,” Ned ordered.

So I raced in, paid the fee, handed over Bill’s $20 and raced down

to my car.

If you haven’t noticed, there was a ton of racing, running,

driving too fast going on, all while the other 14 players were

warming up, lazily hitting balls or putting as they prepared

themselves for the game. It wasn’t calming me down.

But I kept on racing, grabbing my shorts and running up to the

clubhouse and through the restaurant to the bathrooms so I could

change.

I’m hoping anyone reading this can figure out what comes next. But

I was stupid enough to be shocked by the open door and triangular

sign telling me the men’s bathroom was being cleaned.

My mouth opened, just a bit. My eyes closed as I fought off

another wave of incoherent despair.

I could see myself on the course, uncomfortable and sweating in my

black pinstripe pants. How, in fact, could this near hour-long series

of screw-ups end up any other way?

For the first time, though, I took charge. I rushed back to my car

and opened both driver side doors to create a little changing room.

I won’t say exactly what happened next for legal reasons, but I

did play in shorts.

By the time I changed my shoes and carried my bag up to the

clubhouse, everyone was getting ready to take off. Partners were

being picked -- the game’s two-man teams, best net score on each

hole.

I first picked Newport’s Ralph Rodheim out of the hat, but he’d

already pulled his own partner so I dug back in and came out with Ray

Saporita of Impact Graphics & Design.

And we loaded up the cart and headed to the first tee. I hadn’t

stretched, swung a club, practiced a putt and was still pretty

steamed.

This is going to be a great round, I thought sarcastically. Given

that my two previous scores here were 106 and 104, there was no

telling how bad it might get.

* NEXT WEEK: Just how bad does it get?