Rambling Rhodes

Choices

Perhaps the most frustrating aspect of summer is that the season consists of such a finite number of weekends. I don't really notice the passage of summer much at work, or any season for that matter. Here, in the office, the current season is always "Flourescent."

But, the weekends? I notice the passage of those. And man do they pass fast. I find myself almost desperately clinging to my summer weekends, sitting outside at dusk just trying to soak in that last solar ray before the sun ducks down over the horizon. Sunday evenings always seem to be a bit of a bittersweet affair.

The toughest part of summer weekends is deciding what to do to fill them. Quite often, the decision is made for me, such as in the case of weddings. Other times, though, my weekend is spread before me, with a smorgasbord of options, all of them appealing, and I wish I could do all of them.

Last weekend, for example, I could have attended a blogger get-together and, truth be told, I was looking forward to it immensely. But then, a friend of mine called me up and reminded me that I was supposed to be his partner in a golf tournament. And not just any golf tournament: the Black Chad Open in my hometown of Harmony. It was one of those approach-approach conflicts that's so devilishly difficult to work through.

Ultimately, I opted to get together with my friends on the golf course, and I'm really hoping I didn't make the wrong choice, although I don't think there was a wrong choice.

A little history about the Black Chad Open, based entirely on my own faulty memory and the fact that some of the story is based on handed down information. According to local lore, a group of young men came together to play golf in Harmony about five years ago or so. One of the young men was named Chad, and he just happened to be black. The men had such a fine time golfing that day, they decided to come back the next year and organize a two-man best ball tournament and, for whatever reason, they named it the Black Chad Open. There's a $40 entry fee, which includes all the beer you can drink throughout the 18 hole tournament. It can become a pretty rowdy and hilarious affair.

This year was no exception. It was a laugh riot from the opening drive to the final putt. I can't say I made the wrong choice at all. I just made a choice on one of the remaining weekends of my fleeting summer.

But, damn it, from the sounds of it, the blogger get-together was a grand-old time in its own right. Couldn't they have tried to have a little less fun?

Crap.

Posted by Ryan at July 26, 2004 10:18 AM