Ahhh golf. The gentleman’s game. The favorite past-time of the washed up. 18 holes and ~4 hours of sun, friendly competition, beers, and escape from whatever lies outside the tree lined solace of the golf course.

I myself began golfing – I wouldn’t say seriously, but with any consistency – just last year. I figured if I was going to day drink I might as well get some sun and have an activity to participate in while doing it. Since grabbing a buddy to just throw a football and smash beers with at the beach every weekend is just odd as a grown man in your late 20’s, I took up golf. I’ve gotten OK. I can make solid contact with a general knowledge of where the ball is going on most shots.

Now, when golfing, a lot people go pretty early in the morning. There are a few reasons, such as the fact that the course begins to fill up later in the day and the time-honored, old ass person mantra of “having the rest of the day to yourself”. Whatever the fuck that means. However a HUGE advantage to going early is you’re off the course by the early afternoon. And let me tell you something folks, in the dog days of Summer, with that sun hangin high in the sky, this is the big one. Thanks to ice caps melting or some shit I’m not all that keen on because science, it gets fucking HOT up in the greater Boston area nowadays, and HUMID too. Legit I walked out of my office building a couple of days ago and it felt like I was walking out of a hotel in Florida, maybe going to try some tasty international sodas at Epcot. Brutal.

This leads me to tomorrow. It is supposed to be sort of cloudy and 91 Goddam degrees. 91. Hot as fuck. And when it says partly/sort of cloudy nowadays, maybe the last 3 years or so, it means HUMID AS ALL HOLY HELL. I’m talking about sweat baby, sweat baby, sex is a Texas drought, humid.

The question is: between the sun searing my pale, freckly skin and the humidity waging war on my bodily systems, which are already being besieged by beer and devoid of water, am I going to die tomorrow? I’m serious, tomorrow actually could be it. I could hit that course in the AM with a slight hangover and an optimistic outlook on my play and come about 2:00 Eastern Standard Time Ol’ Joey B could be sheets.

My obituary wouldn’t even say he died doing what he loved. More like he died doing something marginally better than what he’d otherwise be doing. And you know what? Considering my life of personifying the 7 deadly sins I’m ok with that. So to those of you who are also hitting the links tomorrow, Godspeed. May our potential last day on earth be a good one.