Tag: Golf

AN OFFER THEY COULDN’T REFUSE

The Sicilian Storyteller

The year was 1980. My husband Frank and I were excited to be back in Italy to celebrate our 5th wedding anniversary and Frank’s 30th birthday. Frank was a big sports fan so the timing couldn’t have been better; we would be in Rome for the Italian Golf Open at the prestigious Acquasanta Golf Club.

Founded in 1903 by British Embassy workers, Acquasanta is the oldest golf course in Italy and one of the most memorable places to play anywhere in the world. The club is located along the Appian Way, just a few kilometers from the heart of Rome. The views of the ruins of ancient Roman aqueducts on the front nine are nothing short of spectacular. We planned to spend a beautiful day walking the roughs and watching the tournament; in the evening we would celebrate Frank’s birthday in the elegant dining room.

Fate brought us together in 1974 when we both signed up for a backpacking tour of Europe. We had seats next to each other on the flight from New York and we hit it off great. We were both Italian; Frank spoke the language fluently while I barely knew enough to put a sentence together. The in-flight movie was The Godfather and Frank delighted in translating much of the dialogue for me.

Neither of us knew anyone else on the tour so we spent all our time together, sharing the stories of our lives. We enjoyed each other’s company and found we had much in common. By the time the tour was over, we were in love. We tied the knot in New York in 1975 and now we were back in the place where it all began.

Our first day at Acquasanta was fantastic; the sky was clear, the sun shining and the temperature mild. The place was busy but not overly crowded and everyone looked quite pleased to be there. Smiling, friendly people greeted us with “Ciao! Come stai oggi?”.

We decided to stop at one of the concession stands for a bite to eat; a few bistro tables and chairs were set up for spectators to sit quietly without distracting the players or disturbing the other visitors. Everywhere we looked the scenery was breathtaking with Mediterranean pines, cypresses and eucalyptus trees dotting the undulating terrain.

As I glanced around enjoying the view I couldn’t help noticing a group of men running in the opposite direction of the greens. More and more people joined the group; curious, Frank and I followed. As we got closer we saw a gorgeous young woman wearing a bikini; the sash she wore revealed she was Miss Italy 1980. There was a sign where she stood and a long line of eager men of all ages.

Frank suddenly started roaring with laughter. I asked him what was so funny; he pointed to the sign, doubled over with laughter as tears ran down his face. Practically hyperventilating, he managed to gasp out the words “It seems they got the translations wrong. What it really says is ‘For good luck, Miss Italy will kiss your balls’. It should say ‘kiss your golf balls’!”

I guess they made those men an offer they couldn’t refuse!

NAR © 2022

PER BUONA FORTUNA, MISS ITALIA
TI BACERÀ LE PALLE

SELF-PRESERVATION

The Sicilian Storyteller

“Settlers or Sellers”, that antiques show is coming on. Wanna watch, Doug?”

Just then the phone rang. It’s our daughter Chrissy talking about how tomorrow’s going to be a gorgeous day and our five grandkids really want us to go to the beach with them. 

“Ok, honey. Sounds wonderful. We’ll see you in the morning. Yes, we’re looking forward to it.” 

Doug, who had been happily watching “Seinfeld”, was now sitting imperially on the edge of the couch scowling at me. 

“What was that remark ‘’we’ll see you in the morning’’? I don’t know about you, Helen, but the only people I’ll be seeing in the morning are my golf buddies. We’re going to rent a couple of carts, play 18 holes, drink martinis with lunch, talk sports and smoke cigars. I’m begging you, Helen. Don’t take my day away!” 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic! You can play golf any day. When do we get to go to the beach with the kids.” 

“As infrequently as possible!” Doug groused. “And I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“Oh, come on! Summer’s almost over and the kids are so looking forward to a day with us.” 

“And I’m looking forward to seeing my buddies! We’ve had this outing planned for a week. Helen, must I remind you what hell it is going to the beach with the kids?” 

“Doug, you’re making it sound horrible.” 

“Helen, my love, it is horrible! We’ve been to the beach with the kids exactly three times. Do you know why? Because it’s HELL!” 

“But Doug, I hate to disappoint them.” 

“And that, my dear, is your Achilles Heel. We start off excited for a great beach day and within an hour it turns into hell. Chrissy brings so much stuff we’re like the Israelites crossing the desert. Who complains the sand is too hot?  Who needs a diaper change? Who drops their lunch in the sand? Who fights over the sand toys? Before you know it, everyone’s crying, they want to go home and our wonderful day at the beach is kaput.” 

“And you’re the one crying the loudest, Doug” I laughed. 

“Damn right I am, woman.  It’s a nightmare and you know it! Listen, why don’t I call the guys and suggest our lovely wives join us tomorrow? You haven’t played in months. How about it?”  

The idea was very appealing. “Doug, do they still serve those delicious Celtic Guey Cocktails and Waldorf Salads?” 

“You bet they do! I know they’re you’re favorites. Are we on?” 

“We most certainly are on! You call the guys and I’ll call Chrissy. I hope the kids aren’t too disappointed.” 

Doug kissed the top of my head. “Honey, it may not seem like it now but you’re doing us all a favor. The kids will be just fine – and so will we. Now call Chrissy.” 

Feeling just a wee bit guilty, I dialed Chrissy’s number. 

“Chrissy, sweetheart. About tomorrow. So sorry to disappoint but your dad just reminded me ……”

NAR © 2019