Minstrels Will Sing

A minstrel was an entertainer in medieval Europe. Having just returned from fifteen days in the British Isles, and after exploring several castles, the term was sitting in my brain, when I played in a couple of golf competitions this past week. It originally described any type of entertainer such as a musician, juggler, singer or jester. Later, minstrel came to mean a specialist entertainer who sang songs and played musical instruments. Most pictures I’ve seen, featured a troubadour and his mandolin.

Over the years I’ve made the observation that “minstrels will sing songs” when I’ve encountered something that I found unusual. It was my way of making an ordinary observation of extraordinary happenings.

About a week ago, I played my first round in our club’s two-man best ball team event. My partner, Jim, and I played with two golfers definitely better than us, but we managed to win. We were two holes down with three left of play. The sixteenth hole is a parr three over a pond. Our opponents both hit their tee shots on the green. Jim dumped his in the pond. I was last to hit and carried it over the green to the top of a hill.

Jim took a drop, hit his third shot, and the ball ran out to about twenty feet. I chipped my ball to within two feet and made my putt for parr. Both of our opponents three putted, so we won the hole. That left us one down with two to play.

We tied the seventeenth hole, and Jim made an eight-foot putt to win the eighteenth. We went to sudden death. I parred the nineteenth hole for the win. It was the only time we were ahead the entire day. After we shook hands with our opponents, I turned to Jim and privately whispered, “Minstrels will sing songs about our comeback.”

During last weekends “Prestige” tournament, David and I played well. We played a series of five nine-hole matches over three days. We earned four of nine points in each of our first two rounds. We should have tied at four and a half, but our opponents made spectacular shots to leave us behind. We knew we’d have to run the table in our remaining three matches to have a shot at winning our flight. We’d also need an assist from others.

David played the back nine at St. Ives, the most difficult of the nines we played, at two under parr. It was our third match. He opened with a bogie but played the final eight holes at three under. He placed his tee shot on the parr three eleventh hole within six inches of the cup and was on his way. He carried me all afternoon. We took our maximum allowed six points and made a slight move on our field.

When we were done with the round, I said, “Minstrels will sing songs about that nine you shot. Spectacular!”

We played our final two nines on Saturday, and I hoped David’s hot hand would carry the day. It did not. As good as he was on Friday, he played equally poor on Saturday. Fortunately, I played just well enough to help us earn 11.5 of a possible 12. It was the largest point total of the day, and it earned us a few extra dollars.

The most unusual shot of the day was made by our afternoon opponent. He pulled his tee shot into the trees on the second hole. Fortunately, we were able to track its flight and find the ball. He couldn’t play it, but we took a nice photo to commemorate the shot.

As he retrieved the ball, I said, “Minstrels will sing songs about that shot.”

Doctor Nester didn’t care about minstrels singing, but he did ask if I might write a story about it. Now I have.

I’ll continue to use the phrase whenever I deem something to be noteworthy. Most references will probably continue to be aligned with my golf observations as that’s where I find miracles being made. Moving forward, I’m thinking about taking up the mandolin, buying some tights with a pair of fluffy shorts, as well as a blousy shirt and a feathered hat. That way I can do the singing myself.