After two days of cut throat play, it's Woody's name being inscribed on the Hubbell Open trophy, for the fifth time.

Undaunted by the glare coming off Mr. Curry's pants, Woody  simply donned his shades and went about the business of knocking the ball into the hole in as few strokes as possible.

My own favorite had two very good days and finished well, but out of the money.

That's an expression.  There is no money.  There never was any money.  The money is gone! GET OVER THE MONEY.

Big Hubbs, aka John G., Dad and Hum T. Dumpty, stayed the course and won the net score.  He remains the only player to have shot under his own age.  It helps that he's 107. He's only 82.  A very young 82.  (he's also the guy who spent all the money.) ( Which is only fair.  It was his.)

Ron "Gator" Gates was dissatisfied with his own play but more than made up for it by bringing his lovely Mom to the after party where she entertained us all with her stories of the fast life in Manhattan.  Frank Sinatra was not a very nice guy.

The party was a rousing success.  Everyone seemed satisfied with the results of the tourney; Woody had been a force of nature, Dad had thoroughly thrashed three of his sons and several grandsons (Mike aka "Hubbs" is exhausted after two days of play in which he finished last with a 201) vast quantities of beer and brats were consumed and Joe aka "Hubbs" regaled Bea Gator with tales of how Mom and Dad had never really cared for him.

In the midst of all this Golfestivity, we also celebrated Alex and Josie's birthdays, so in addition to the beer, pizza and brats, there was lots and lots of chocolate cherry cake and some presents.

Tuesday we do it all again for Meg's birthday.

You gotta love July.

 

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