A Nice Place for Golf

A Nice Place for Golf

A Nice Place for Golf

The following is a loose retelling of the 1960 Twilight Zone Episode “A Nice Place To Visit.”

Rocky McIntosh is a “Capital G,” Golfer.  He’s an 8 handicap, is a member at multiple country clubs, gets fit for new clubs each year, has been to Bandon more times than he can count, and reads Plugged in Golf daily.  No one’s quite sure how he got his money, and they know not to ask about it. 

One fateful fall afternoon, while playing the 10th hole at Shoreacres, Rocky caught a shanked 7 iron to the back of his head and knocked him out right on the spot.

When Rocky came to, there was a man standing above him smiling.  Everything was bright.  He noticed what appeared to be pearly gates, and it felt like he was laying on a cloud.

“Where am I?” Rocky explained, “Is this heav–.”  

“Come this way, I’ll show you to your new home,” the man replied.  “The name’s Peter, by the way.”

Rocky climbed into the back of the Peter’s car, and they drove down some unfamiliar roads for what felt like 15 minutes.  Eventually the car meandered down a long driveway, lined with beautiful trees that felt strangely familiar to Rocky, but he couldn’t quite place it.  As they got to the end of the drive, Rocky saw a white clubhouse, and instantly he knew, “We’re at Augusta!”

“Yes,” said Peter, “I’ll take you to your house.”

Rocky couldn’t remember seeing any homes from watching The Masters on TV, but as they drove through the woods they came to a house overlooking the 18th hole.  The house was massive, and was filled with everything Rocky could imagine.  An indoor putting green, a GC Quad, and a Trackman.  The basement was filled floor to ceiling with more clubs than Rocky could count.

Rocky grabbed a set of clubs, jumped in a golf cart, and headed to the first tee.  It was finally time for him to play Augusta National.

He birdied the first hole.  Then the second.  Then the third.  He had never birdied 3 holes in row.  His birdie streak continued and he made the turn at 9 under par.  He birdied 10, 11, stuck it close on #12.  It was the round of his life.  He made a 6 footer at the last to finish 18 under par, his best ever score by 22 shots!

The next day he headed out again, and made another 18 birdies for his second 54 in as many days.  On the third day, another 54.  Rocky was over the moon.  “It feels so good to finally have everything figured out,” he told Peter after the round.  It continued like this for another three weeks.  21 rounds of golf, 21 rounds of shooting 18 under par.  

Things were starting to feel a little stale.  Rocky tried out a new set of clubs and played a different set of tees.  18 under.  Again.

The next day he needed something new to happen so he topped his drive intentionally on #1.  His next shot meandered up the fairway, and then he holed out from 156 for an opening birdie.  Rocky mishit a putt on #2, but it still somehow found the bottom of the cup.  When he tried to slice it, he hit it off the toe of his driver and the ball still found the fairway.  He begrudgingly made a 10 footer on #18 for yet another birdie and yet another 54.

Rocky was discouraged.  He never could have dreamed of shooting under par, and now he was doing it every time.  He was surprised when he started to long for a lot of the things that used to bring him frustration in golf.  He started to miss the feeling of making a bogey.  He used to hate his first tee jitters, now he would do anything to feel like that again.  He used to get excited about new clubs, but now that he had everything at his disposal there was nothing special about them.  Rocky fondly remembered a past round where he shot 50 on the front 9, but rebounded with a 40 on the back. 

He went to go find Peter.  He didn’t think he belonged in heaven anyway, way too many shady business dealings and shaving strokes back on earth.  Now was time to fess up.

He found Peter at the house, “Peter, I think there’s been some mistake,  I don’t belong here, I’m not a good person.  I shouldn’t be in here, heaven isn’t for me.”

A wry smile crept over Peter’s face, “Oh Rocky, you’re mistaken.  This is exactly where you belong, and this place is definitely not heaven!”

Peter laughed menacingly.  Rocky hung his head in despair, now realizing he’s doomed to make nothing but birdies for eternity.

Andy Hayes
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3 Comments

  1. lol funny Andy.. highly entertaining.. thanks

  2. I remember the episode. The guy who died was a broken down gambler who could not lose in the afterlife. God has a sense of humor.

  3. Willoughby, next stop Willoughby!!!

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