My Day with James

Mostly as a defense mechanism but also in an attempt to be entertaining, I don't usually write in terms of 'I' of 'me.' I have a grand total of 20 Twitter followers -- most of whom are trying to sell me something -- and I write a very, very lightly read gambling/sports blog. Rare is it when I write about anything important. Rarer still is finding someone who cares what I think.

This is a diversion for me. After having the misfortune of graduating journalism school at the precise moment the entire news paper industry collapsed, I do it to stay sharp, to have a little fun and if at the same time some people find it amusing, then great.

Today, though, is special. I do have something to say, and whether you care is for you to decide, but it’s important.

As my wife can attest, there are very few people on the planet more boring than I. It’s literally the same routine every day: Get up, work out, have breakfast while watching the simulcast of Dan Patrick's radio show, go to work for eight hours, walk home, watch a game and then it’s off the bed at 10:15, maybe 10:30 on nights when I feel wild.

On off days, instead of work, I'll read, or, if weather permits, play golf. Thursday wasn't exactly one of those days, with a pretty steady rain and temperatures in the low 50s. But I haven't played in a while, and having grown up in Arizona, where I played year round, I was itching to back on the course.

When I showed up, the course was predictably dead, which made me happy because I wanted to take my time, play alone and work on my game by hitting a couple extra shots each hole.

So I won't lie, when a man hollered at me from a distance on the third hole asking if I wanted to join him, I wasn't too enthusiastic. Truth be told, actually, I was pissed. What was I going to say, "No, it's cool, I don't like strangers, please don't talk to me," which is really what I was thinking.

What I didn't know at the time and what I quickly realized is that the man was a 72-year old total bad ass named James, a dude who gave me four hours I'll never forget, and, most importantly, a much needed dose of reality.

James carries a 16 handicap, which is better than average, especially for his age. When you consider, however, that James was a double amputee playing on two prosthetics, it's way fucking better than average.

But his ability to play the game, as amazing as it was, faded within literally minutes, as it became clear this was one of the nicest, most positive people I've ever been around.

Dude's spirit was infectious and his energy was inspiring. Nothing could wipe a smile off his face.

A half hour before I was cursing myself for three-putting the first hole. Six minutes with this guy and I suddenly understood that all the day-to-day things I normally whine and bitch about are pretty much bull shit when compared to the challenges placed in front of someone who doesn’t have any legs – especially when that someone seems to go through life like he has everything in the world.

When the round was over I wanted to thank James for giving me the perspective that I had been lacking, but not wanting to make light of his condition, I didn't. Instead, he thanked me, saying he 'really enjoyed the company.' Amazing. That's all you really need to know about James.