Best Golf Stories Ever: “Are you the Peters Threesome?”

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I miss playing golf with my dad. He introduced me to the game when I was five years old, we had so many good times on the golf course.

We must have played a thousand rounds together, but two stand out. One was the last time we played together. He was 70 at the time and wasn’t getting around the golf course too well. He burned through two packs a day and probably enjoyed a little more Texas BBQ than he should have. It was hard for me to watch my hero struggle, but I was still happy to be on the golf course with him. I woefully knew our golf was coming down the stretch.

As a freshman in college he walked on the football team, he earned a scholarship as a sophomore and was voted team captain as a senior — he was tough as nails. We were playing at a golf course north of Tampa, I was cruising along at five over par and wasn’t looking at the scorecard or worried about losing. Then I made a double bogey and a bogey, he made two birdies and all of a sudden he was two shots back. I realized this was not a leisurely father-son round of golf; he was trying to beat the hell outta me. He was sweating, limping and breathing hard, but his will to compete was stronger than his Merit Ultra Light-lungs. I made pars on No. 16, 17 and 18 to hang on and win by two. Part of me was sad I’d won because I saw how hard he was competing, but then I realized I was supposed to win; he taught me to.

Another round I cherish happened 15 years before our final match. We were playing at The Club at Mission Dorado in West Texas, which has since been acquired by Odessa Country Club. His shorts never fit well to begin with, but on the third hole of that day, his zipper broke. His shorts were falling down and you could see his underwear; it was a hilarious. We laughed laughed as he struggled to keep his shorts up.

We didn’t know it, but the punch line wouldn’t be delivered until No. 17. As our threesome walked onto the green, a marshal approached in a golf cart.

“Excuse me, are you the Peters threesome?” the marshal asked.

“No we’re not! My zipper broke!” my dad answered.

The marshal nodded with a curious look and drove away.

I fell to the ground in laughter and for all intents and purposes, the round was over. We laughed till we cried. I can still see his drooping shorts and repeated efforts to keep them somewhat near his waistline.

I miss those days so much.

Submitted by Elvis Anderson, Florida, USA

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