Wow. No thread has ever made me feel older. Anyways, respect your elders and indulge me. This story is just as much about how as it is what.
(Cue “The Suburbs” by Arcade Fire)
Summer. Early eighties. Suburban Minneapolis.It’s a humid evening and the greenish sky looks like a thunderstorm is about to roll in. I went to the mall with my mom and on the way back we saw a garage sale and so we pulled the wagon over to take a look around. As my mom was milling over gently used kitchenware, I was in the garage standing by a huge wooden barrel with about 50 clubs in it. Next thing I know some old-timer, must’ve been 80 yrs old, comes up and stands right by me.This guy is probably 5’9", 250 and he looks terrifying. He’s wearing a wife beater, hockey breezers with hockey suspenders, (this is Minnesota) red wool socks up to his knees, hiking boots and a tam-o-shanter hat. To reiterate, he looks as crazy as anyone I’ve ever seen. He asks “need some clubs?” My mouth says “yes sir. I do” but my pounding heart is saying "please don’t kill me."
The old-timer sticks his meaty paw in the barrel (remember, there are like 50 clubs in this barrel) and in under two seconds he grabs some Wilson Patty Berg 3-5-7-9 irons, a laminate Northwestern 3 wood and a T-line putter. It was the perfect set for a 12 year-old and this guy snagged it from the bottomless barrel in no time flat. Golftec couldn’t have fit me any better. I think he charged my mom $5.00. I got my first Jones bag the next day and haven’t looked back since.