The Prodigal Gutta Percha Ball
brinkley | August 15, 2012Gutta percha golf balls are strange lot. Independent, willful, and extravagant, they have a mind of their own. I’ve had perfectly struck balls fly well for the first little bit, then dive to the ground, or more likely the hazard. If they don’t like you, they take advantage of their pale skin color and mix in a little grass stain never to be found again. I’ve had balls in my bag that been hit just once only be lost in the middle of fairway. Thus the “Return to Pro Shop” marking and yes that ball did make it back after two weeks of hiding. I’ve even had a gutta percha kill a bird. But this, this is the story of the prodigal gutta percha.
The little gutta percha was original manufactured in Scotland making its way to the US about four years ago. It spend several years in a garage waiting be played as part of a hickory golf add on to tournaments. It finally made its way to my house where it sat waiting once again. And while nine of it’s brethren were put into play, the little ball waited. Not content though, he was secretly planning how he would escape and spend the rest of his life on the golf course. It was not fair that he was never chosen.
At last his chance came when every ball was needed for the Old Hickory Golf Tournament. I was organizing the tournament and the little ball saw this as a chance to escape. He made sure that the other two balls got into the ball sleeve first then quickly jumped in as the top ball in the bag. He had a good 18 holes to plan his escape and on this nine hole course that meant he could look over the best place to be lost in the first round. The format for the tournament was little different than most. The first nine holes a player played with either the pre-1905 set and a gutta percha ball or a 1930’s set with a square mesh ball. On the back nine the player would switch with his club partner and play using the opposite clubs.
Our little gutta percha was happy to be paired with Roy and Del. He thought that Roy looked a little familiar, but he had never seen Del before. He liked Del. Del had a pretty good swing and while he was using a pre-1900 wood with a curved face he stayed in the fairway most of the time. There was only an occasional wild ride. And the fresh air was exhilarating. Why hadn’t he gotten out before he wondered? Before he knew it the front nine was done and we was in the hands of Roy.
Humm…he thought…I recognize these hands. I’ve seen them before. Yikes it’s that guy that makes the wooden hickory shafts and the wooden trophy for this tournament. The little ball was willing to give him a chance, but after the first hole he was ready to make his escape and enjoy the great outdoors of golf for good. On the third shot of the second hole he saw his chance. At the back of the green he spotted a good sized, thick, bushy evergreen. If he could just get Roy to hit a good shot.
As the club approached he jumped up on the the face in exactly the place that he thought would make the tree. He soared high in the sky and came down at a perfect angle right the middle. “Freedom” he shouted to the everyone in the tree. Everyone ignored him, scolding him to be quite. As Roy approached he made sure he was well hidden and secure in the tree. Roy and Del shook the tree, but he was tightly wedged into the branches. They even tried running clubs up in the tree. They finally gave up and Roy dropped another ball by the side of the tree. Sucker, he thought. I’m free and you’re going to get bruised up for another 7 holes.
As soon as they left the rest of the members of the trees started in.
What in the world do you think you’re doing?
I don’t take kindly to being rustled up and shaken down like that.
I’ve been violated by a golf club because of you.
Golf balls make sick. Two, three times a day it’s the same thing.
It just continued the rest of the day. But that wasn’t nearly as bad as the night. At 6,000 feet and in the mountains it got cold at night. Then some of the members of the tree started leaking their sap on him. It went on like this for five weeks. He was stuck in the tree. Freedom yes, but what good is freedom when you have to live in swallow like this tree. Pretty soon he couldn’t even stand the smell of the tree. He just wanted to go home.
He saw a lot golfers come and go over the next five weeks. He thought he saw Del a couple of times, but the members of trees kept blocking his view. Then one Saturday Del came to the back side of the green near the tree. He knew this was his chance to get out the tree and go home. No one knows exactly how he did it, but he suddenly was propelled from the tree at Del’s feet. Del looked down and just laughed as he picked up the little gutta percha. Freedom never felt so good. He knew he was safe in Del’s pocket and hoped beyond all hope that he could go back home with all the other gutta perchas.
Sure enough Dale gave the gutta percha to his boss who a week later gave him back to me. The little gutta percha now sits content with the other gutta perchas waiting for his next chance to be hit around the golf course.