I’m Jack Nicholas ‘25, president of Pi Gamma Alpha fraternity at Dartmouth. Here at PGA, we’re serious about the game of golf. Who doesn’t love a day out on the course? The clubs and balls that cost more than your net worth, the hours of sun exposure that’ll have you looking like a 55-year-old at age 20, the unbreathable clothing that causes fungal infections in unspeakable places, I could go on for hours. It’s the life.
The other day, some friends told me I needed to figure out who PGA was sending to the Masters tournament next week. The Masters?! It’s in August and in Hanover now? And Dartmouth students were invited to play? I know there’s been some meddling from outside forces in professional golf lately, but I didn’t think Dartmouth was the kind of institution that would ingratiate itself with Saudi Arabia like that. Middle Eastern policy aside, I’d take any chance I can get to play in such a historic event. I’ve never broken 100 at my par 3 course back home, but who knows what could happen? Maybe I could get on a hot streak, bring the green jacket home, and meet all my favorite players in the process!
On the day of the first round, my caddy Bartholomew and I arrived at the clubhouse to some unusual happenings. I had a lot of questions. Why was the course in a basement? Day drinking is an integral part of rounds with friends, but why were people doing so to this extent at an event of this caliber? Why was there a speaker blasting EDM so loudly? I needed to focus! What did everyone mean by “Where’s my B team”? I was here to take the tournament home myself. Other golfers play so dirty with all their mind games these days. Even worse, no one was following the standard dress code! Collared shirts, cotton pants, and spiked shoes had been discarded in favor of beer-stained Tarantino t-shirts, ripped jeans, and flip-flops that slipped around a floor stickier than a wet bunker and smellier than a water hazard filled with goose droppings. What happened to cleanliness and etiquette?
The first hole was a short one: I needed to hit the ball from the foot of the stairs into a plastic party cup on a table that read “DOWN WITH THE 1%” in bright red. Bartholomew unplugged the speaker, held up a “quiet” sign, and handed my driver and a golf ball to me. I teed up, swung as hard as I could, made contact, and…
Oh no.
A horrible hook to the left. Everything was going way to the right last round! I swear, my swing has a mind of its own.
All hell broke loose as the ball bounced all over the place at lightning speed. My caddy and I quickly ducked for cover behind a couple that’d passed out earlier. Lights shattered, dents were driven into the walls, and by the time the coast had cleared, all but one person besides me and Bartholomew had been knocked unconscious. Despite the chaos, I somehow sank the shot! Quite a first hole-in-one story to tell my buddies back home. They won’t believe it.
My exclamation of excitement caused some other folks to come downstairs and see what was happening. Jealous of my skill, they immediately kicked me out. A few hours later, some uniformed men took me to the award ceremony. They gave me not just a jacket, but an entire orange jumpsuit for my performance! I had to pay a minor property damage fine – around $25000 – but I went an entire round without a penalty stroke for the first time! I’d consider that a step up in my game. Even better, I scored a new personal best: +15 (aggravated assault charges)!
-B.D.S. ‘27
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