This isn’t Augusta, it’s a dive bar.

The Old Boys’ Club — and I do mean old.

Last fall I tried to join an all men’s club in town because I knew a lot of the guys in it and thought it would be fun to play with them. That’s all. Since all the young guys were cool with the idea, I figured it was probably just an all men’s club by default because they never thought to change it over the years. I wasn’t out to buck tradition; that would have just been a happy by-product. However, the old farts who voted on things like that were just too obstinate (backward?) or misogynistic (gay?) or threatened (pusillanimous?) to embrace the change and allow me in. Can you tell I’m bitter? They welcomed me and my money at the bar — yes, it’s a bar club and a beer and wine only bar at that — and said I could join as an associate member. Oh, they were so forward-thinking they had already allowed a woman as an associate member! So I could pay to join, and play when there was an opening due to a cancellation, I just wasn’t eligible to really compete or win anything. Thanks but no thanks.

They misled me for awhile and said they were going to change their bylaws and welcome me as a full member. The accepted my application and my check, we agreed that I would have to play from the white tees with everyone else and it was supposed to be a done deal. Of course, this was at the same time they were in the process of transitioning to a new handicap chairman who just happened to be my boyfriend, Greg. Once that was in place, they held a meeting and the old farts decided against letting me in. They said a lot of people voted to let me in, but that it had to be unanimous to change the bylaws. So sorry, buh-bye.

When I first started talking to them about joining it was also so I could get an SCGA number and start establishing a handicap. I was less than two months into my golfing experience but already hopelessly addicted and eager to become “official.” During the time I was being bamboozled, Greg processed my application and posted all my scorecards with my shiny new SCGA number. Since then, I joined another club and transferred that number over. Of course, I’m still privy to all their tournament results since Greg gets the sheets for posting. For a club that takes itself so seriously (who do they think they are, Augusta?) what a bunch of beer drinking hackers. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! In fact it’s partly why I wanted to play with them, or at least the younger generation that wanted me to join. They’re all about having fun, but, like me, also want to play well and improve their games. However, based on the results I’ve seen, I would probably have consistently won in my flight, already advanced a level and be competitive in that flight as well. Maybe that’s what scared them.

Next post.