Wednesday, August 17, 2005

Piracy-een Better Days

For some (namely the Kennedys) Cape Cod is home to afternoon highballs, sunset walks on the private beach, leisurely rounds of golf, and lobsters hauled in, cooked, and eaten bibless. For my family, our summer trips to Cape Cod were less about enjoying the American Camelot and more about buying off-price ramen and early holiday wrapping paper at the Christmas Tree Shoppe, sucking down Slush Puppies to stave off heat stroke with brain freeze, and complaining about the stuck in delicate regions. I'm willing to bet a Kennedy has never even uttered the phrase "buttcrack"--not while walking the shore, definitely not while dunking lobster meat in drawn butter, and most certainly not while teeing off.

Our golf? Miniature and pirate-themed. (Suck them highballs!)

So maybe none of us will ever hold public office, but I highly doubt that J.F., R.F., or Ted Kennedy could hold a candle to our total domination of Pirate's Cove Adventure Golf. I'm not just talking about the front course, either. I mean we could kick some serious booty on both the Captain Kidd and Blackbeard courses. Tee? Iron? Par? What? You can seriously suck it if you think playing on a big mowed field is anything to be proud of. I sunk my (fuschia) ball in two strokes on a pirate ship.

Of course by "our total domination," what I mean is "excellent mini-golf performances by the rest of my family that offset my complete inability to hit a golf ball in a straight line, except when it needs to curve." It became pretty clear that by four of five holes into Blackbeard's Revenge I wasn't going to be heading off to the PGA tour anytime soon. It was the first year I was golfing against two fully grown brothers. My father has always been an excellent putt-putter who regularly kicks our asses, so I usually count on coming in second at best. Until this year, though, I could also count on at least one little brothers' partially matured hand-eye coordination to prevent me from totally bringing up the rear.

My mother had decided to skip out on pirate adventure golf this year, though I can't imagine why. Putting a neon golf ball on astroturf with a borrowed club under food-colored waterfalls in a leaky paper mache cave with sea chanteys playing on a loop is how all the haves unwind. Brad was a little less than thrilled to hit the mini-links as well, but I think once he was solidly pummeling me by the third hole the spirit of Blackbeard got the better of him.

We were a sight. Between groups of khaki shorts wearing, polo shirt sporting, accurate score keeping, decent, god-fearing golfing vacationers was my family: Chris threatening to murder the next person to make fun of his lavender golf ball (he insisted it was gray), Mike with a half-smoked Marlboro hanging out of his mouth, my father doing the "pirate voice" and trying to convince us not to swear loud enough for nearby pre-schoolers to hear, Brad wearing sunglasses on a hazy day and looking entirely too hip to even stand near so many people wearing L.L. Bean, and me, wearing several too many belts and scarves, desperately swatting a golf ball bent on not going wherever it was supposed to.

We finished Blackbeard's Mini-Golf course with four decent scores and one unbelievably high one (all recorded with Blackbeard's Tiny Pencil) on our scorecard. From there, we enjoyed Blackbeard's Gift and Novelty Shop filled with authentic pirate booty like Blackbeard's Shellacked Blowfish Wearing Little Sombreros.

I'm glad to see Cape Cod is doing its part to keep its history of fearsome piracy alive and well. I may have come in last place but the reward of hitting Blackbeard's Well-Maintained Public Restroom was enough for me, especially in conjunction with the sign imploring all of his marauding, thieving employees to wash their landlubbin' hands.


Anonymous Rebecca said...

Pirate's Cove haunts my nightmares. I've never been to the one on Cape Cod, but a Feldman family vacation was never complete without a visit to Pirate's Cove when I was a kid. Usually I wake up screaming right as my brain replays the time we were supposed to have hit the road to head back home three hours prior and my dad said, "That was fun! Wanna play both courses again before we go?" leaving me to sit in the car crying for three hours.

I think I've shared too much.

11:21 AM  

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