We here in the Midwest apparently don’t deserve more than two warm, dry days in a row. Farmers cannot get their crops in the soil, and golfers cannot get their tees in the turf. It’s a toss-up, at this point, as to who is more frustrated.

So two days ago, when it was actually sunny AND 74 degrees, I headed to the course faster than Charlie Sheen to a bordello.

I even put on a brand new golf shirt to celebrate: A black Callaway X Series Drysport polo (MSRP $30).

It was comfortable and light, almost like wearing nothing at all, actually. But when I got home, I checked the hastily-removed tag, only to discover that precisely what it was I was wearing was completely a mystery to me.

According to the label, the shirt is made of 92% polyester and 8% Spandex. Now, I associate polyester with a light blue leisure suit I wore when I was 14. And let me tell you, it was the hottest, least comfortable ensemble I can imagine short of a suit of armor.

And Spandex was another specious fabric from the early 1980s, which has vague associations with leg-warmers and Nancy Reagan.

Somehow, though, Callaway has blended these former pariahs of the fabric world into golf wear with the following almost magical properties:

1. Anti-microbial. Well thank God for that. Last time I played 18, I came down with a nasty case of Ebola.

2. UPF 15+. I think this has something to do with the sun. The small print informs us that the shirt, “Meets ASTM D-6603 Standard Requirements.” All I can say is, once again, what a relief. A buddy of mine wore a pair of cargo shorts that didn’t even meet D-6602 sub-standard requirements, and he developed melanoma on his ass. And his sperm count flat-lined. And his wife left him. (Well, this last part wasn’t so bad; she was a bit of a witch.)

3. Quick dry. OK, now I understand something. At one point I accidentally spit into the wind. 98% of the loogie did not stick when it hit my sleeve, and the 2% that did dried immediately.

4. Moisture wicking: This sounds like a great feature, but when I thought about the volume of alcohol I sweat out of my system in a given day, it occurred to me that I had become a 6-foot 1-inch, 195-lb. extremely flammable wick. Another golfer lit a cigarette outside the clubhouse, and I ran from the open flame shrieking like a girl.

In short, this shirt was extremely comfortable, and an utter enigma. Sort of like religion is to a lot of folks.

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. And a microbe ricochets off my torso.

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