Week 1 - Summer 2020 Recap

What if I told you...

A man spent the majority of his life attempting to step out of the shadow cast by his adoptive father, only to be routinely pulled back into the safety of an aging paternal bosom?

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While the Carter Administration was dealing with with the Iran Hostage Crisis, a lesser known hostage situation was forming in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. There, twin brothers were born to members of the Ho-Chunk Nation.

Understanding that names could drastically affect individual futures, their father — Chief Joseph — wanted them be more relatable to the settlement of white man slowly encroaching the reservation. So he named them both "Michael," adding the suffix of "Ho" and "Chunk" to preserve their heritage.

Michael-Ho was a quirky child, fond of eating highly-corrosive poisonous plants that stunted his growth. It would be discovered later that his favorite blend of cow parsnip and wood nettles also caused him to age at a much slower rate than his brother.

Michael-Chunk, on the other hand, developed a devastatingly bad case of infant-osteoporosis (his condition would later inspire the movie "Benjamin Button"). Unable to partake in most tribe activities due to his brittle bones, "Chunk" (as he was ironically referred to) spent his days stumbling around the reservation, swiping at rocks with a stick. He invented a game where he would see how many times he could hit a rock before it eventually — and almost always accidentally — found its way into a gopher hole.

He would recall in his memoir, written at age 15:

"The more hits, the better! I was really good at my game. Nobody knew what I was doing, but I discovered if my stick hit the ground before it hit the rock, the rock wouldn't go very far. I called it 'The Chunk Shot.' I loved watching the rock barely move, safe from ever rolling into a gopher hole. I hate holes."

Life for both Michaels seemed routine, until the day forever referred to by Chief Joseph's family as "Serendipitous Sunday."

While slapping his rocks into a stream ("Water good, holes bad!" according to the rules of his game), Michael-Chunk encountered a white man who lived in the nearby woods. The man was a loner, actively dodging any and all American drafts. It was an obsession for the man, who became addicted to draft-evasion when he successfully avoided the Frano-Prussian War of 1870. Over time, his hatred of drafts evolved. He especially disliked the NBA draft, and its nonsensical lottery system that rewards late-season tanking. The Ho-Chunk Nation knew of this man, and simply referred to him as "Darryl."

Darryl — ever the opportunist — realized that if he had a son of his own, he could share the special memories of his past life, while making new special memories in the future. Perhaps, rinsing rocks in streams and lakes would be special? The young native boy seemed to enjoy it. Darryl decided it was time to permanently move out of the woods, and he was going to do so with a son. Even if that son wasn't his, and physically looked the same age as Darryl (albeit much smaller).

So Darryl kidnapped little Michael-Chunk.

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Chief Joseph was devastated for a few days. But he called off the search party once he realized how much money he was saving with one less mouth to feed. Not to mention the annoyance of having to find new rocks for Chunk to hit after losing his previous batch to the stream.

Joseph was also very close to saving enough cash to purchase his first casino. Chunks disappearance was the first domino to fall in realizing his dreams. With a newfound excitement and determination, Joseph sold his other son, Michael-Ho, to a traveling veterinary clinic which was headed to Florida. He was never heard from again.

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Despite losing contact with his biological family, Michael-Chunk was seemingly unaffected by the change in lifestyle. He was considered unproductive and weak by his former tribe, but now found himself looked upon as an "elder" in the world of the white man. Everywhere he went he was given discounts. Men in town, who were the same age as Michael, dropped what they were doing to help him cross the street.

Michael began to feel like he was the most important human on the planet. A feeling confirmed when he was legally adopted by Darryl, and his suffix was replaced with the surname "Gorecki" — which loosely translates to "Only Person that Matters."

Upon learning of Michael's favorite stick-rock game, Darryl introduced him to the game of golf. But Michael had a difficult time adjusting to the rules. Mainly, he struggled with the idea you wanted the ball to go in the hole in the fewest possible strokes. It just didn't seem natural. But he loved his new father, and desperately wanted to impress him.

For the next 50-60 years (official records are unclear how old Michael and Darryl actually are), the son attempted to beat his father on the links. Darryl tried his best to give Michael swing tips. He even explained that you could always fluff up the lie to make the ball easier to hit. Or maybe move your ball closer to the hole with your thumb when you are marking it on the green.

But Darryl failed to impart the most crucial advice in the game of golf: "hit the ball before you hit the ground." And Mike's struggles continued.

That is... until one sunny day in 2012 at Legacy Golf Club in Lakewood Ranch. Standing over a 4 foot, slightly downhill putt, Mike had a chance to beat Darryl — for the first time ever.

He was a nervous wreck, and it didn't help that Geoff was so bored from watching slow-play he unconsciously kept shaking the flagstick, forcing Mike to back off the ball and restart his routine:

Stare at the ground as if you are reading the break. Extend the arms. Jerk the shaft a few times. Look up to the sky... and then the hole... and then the ground again... my god, I really hate holes. What if this putt goes in? Will my dad love me more? Or less? Would it be better to tie? Why are there four people standing in the fairway with their hands on their hips? That's a very odd pre-shot routine. Jerk the shaft one more time. Stand over the ball. Stare at it. Quickly glance at the hole again. Fucking holes. They're everywhere and this ball shouldn't have to go into one. Start the backstroke... QUICK STABBY FOLLOW THROUGH!

And the ball rolled into the hole. Mike had finally beaten his dad, with a score of 100 to 101.

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The victory was bittersweet. It took half a century to accomplish the feat, but even Michael knew winning with a triple-digit score wasn't "good." Nevertheless, he allowed Chandler to put the scorecard on his fridge, hoping his wife would see it and forgive him for smoking cigars in the house while she was out of town (she didn't).

An urban legend was formed which said Michael never again defeated his dad on the golf course. Through our extensive research, we were able to compare every round from both players recorded by the prestigious Fort Brooke Golfers Club:

The floodgate of victories never opened up for Michael, but it's at least a Urinary Incontinence level of success. Slowly, and randomly, leaking out over time. Darryl will always be the superior Gorecki. Michael will never surpass his dad in golfing ability.

And yet... this is the man who beat all of us (net) on Sunday at Countryside.

See you all next week.