Of all the amenities at upscale golf courses, the one I love best is unlimited range balls. That’s worth more than all the aggressive ball boys, GPS, cold towels, free apples, gruff rangers, talkative “hosts,” ice-filled coolers and good-looking, scantily-clad cart girls in the world.
Well, maybe except for the cart girls.
There isn’t much in golf better than walking out to the range before your round and seeing prime, Callaway or some such quality golf balls stacked in neat, little pyramids.
No worrying about stupid tokens that don’t fit, code numbers that don’t work or those itty-bitty green bags full of about 10, beat-up range balls. Worse, how about paying $5 for about 20 range balls?
Those little, stacked pyramids often stoke me up to hit 50 or so balls after my round. Just becuse they are there.
Yes, I’m annoyed with myself for sounding so pampered and spoiled, but damn it, give me the pyramids and fire the ball boys.
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Katharine Dyson:
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Mark Nessmith:
If you don't pay a cent, then I'll just hate you!