Player Prerogative

I played golf as a part of the Grunge Tour for several years. Our first tournament was in Lexington, Kentucky. After a few we moved to Myrtle Beach and, ultimately, Tampa, Florida. I’d be lying if I told you when we started and stopped. We competed for more than a dozen years and less than two. We typically played five days. There were eighteen holes on the first and fifth days. We played thirty-six on the second, third and fourth. The second round on each of those days was a two-man best ball.

I’d guestimate we had about twenty different players wander in and out of the group. My friend, Rick, organized each tournament. Of those twenty men, at least a third of them are gone. None have died of old age. Heart attacks and cancer took most. Covid got at least one.

I liked all of the guys except one. I’ve forgotten his name, so I’ll just refer to him as Dick. Very few of the guys liked Dick. He thought he was an expert in everything, especially golf. He hit a hundred practice balls after each day’s play and offered unsolicited advice to each of us. That was Dick

The last time I played in the Grunge, Wayne was my partner in the three-day afternoon event. He was easy going and a pleasure to share a round with. I enjoyed our time together.

On one of our final rounds Wayne and I were matched against Dick and his partner. Afternoon golf included two nine-hole matches. We counted one ball for each team. If one player was out of contention, he picked up and relied on his partner to carry the hole. Wayne and I were tied with Dick and his partner going into the sixth hole.

I hit a couple poor shots before landing on the green. I was lying four while Wayne and Dick were lying two. Dick’s partner was there but I can’t recall anything about him. I know I liked him because Dick was the only one that rubbed me the wrong way.

I considered myself out of the hole, so I decided to pick up. As I bent over to pick up my ball Dick said, “What are you doing?”

“I’m out of the hole so I’m picking up.”

“You can’t do that. You have to putt it. Player prerogative.”

Dick wanted me to putt because my ball was about a foot behind his. If I putted, he’d get a chance to see the line his ball would take. That’s why he called “player prerogative”. At that time, I’d been playing golf for about forty years. I’m certainly not an expert on the rules but I’d never heard of such a thing. When I dismissed his demand, he countered, “Then that’s a loss of the hole.”

I didn’t say bullshit, but that’s what I thought. Rather than argue, I putted fifteen feet offline so he couldn’t get a read.

And then Dick said, “You can’t do that. You have to try.”

I replied, “Player prerogative.”

Dick two putted, and Wayne three putted. We lost the hole, making us one down with three to play. Wayne apologized as we walked towards our golf cart. He felt he’d let me down.

“No worries. I’m pissed. We’re going to kick their ass”

We tied the seventh and won the eighth and ninth holes. I was right. Good triumphed over evil.

That player prerogative comment has stuck with me all these years.  I’ve never found it in the rules of golf, including all the modernized updates.  It was just Dick being Dick.

I did find this definition of prerogative.  Something that certain people are allowed to do but is not possible for everyone.

Yes, that’s Dick indeed.