Warcraft is played? I bet you don’t.”
Monsieur Martinet sort of squinted, then said, “Golf is a game that teaches many of the qualities needed for success—for instance, decision making and attention to detail. Computer games, on the contrary, are for idiots.”
“Or teenagers,” said Eddie Xanadu.
I realized I’d said the wrong thing. I tried to recover a bit of ground by saying, “Let’s see if you do better then.” I’m not sure how dadly that sounded, to be honest.
The others all got their ball onto the flat bit of grass round the hole. I had to get mine out of the long grass. Dr. Drax came with me and told me I should chip the ball with a niblick. I was quite excited by that suggestion. I thought a niblick might be some slim pond-dwelling goblin, which is what it sounds like. Disappointingly, it’s just another golf stick.
It does work though. It knocked the ball straight up into the air and it plopped down on the green bit. “Well done,” said Dr. Drax. “There’s no feeling on Earth as satisfying asdropping the ball down just so like that.”
“Maybe not on Earth. I bet there are some much better feelings in space though.”
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve certainly given your daughter a great opportunity.”
Yes, I’ve given Florida a great opportunity. And I’ve given myself a niblick.
The other dads were all lined up ready to tee off again. Samson One drove his ball down the fairway in another lovely parabola. I kept hold of my niblick.
“Oh, you can’t tee off with a niblick,” smiled Dr. Drax.
“I’m not teeing off.” I chipped the ball into the back of the golf buggy.
“Now look what you’ve done,” snarled Monsieur Martinet.
“I’ve done,” I said, “a stroke of genius. When you drive up onto the green in the buggy, my ball will go to the green in the back of the buggy. And I’ll just chip it out again.”
“You can’t do that! You can’t send your ball round the golf course in a car.”
“Why not?”
“The rules. Golf has rules. Lots of rules. That’s the beauty of the game.”
Samson One said, “Logic says he can. If we think of thegolf buggy as a hazard? Well then, balls do go into hazards. Sand traps and ponds and so on.”
When you say “hazard” to normal people they think of ice on the road, or fog, or sudden invasions of Night Elves. Golfers think you mean sand. Or a puddle with a duck in it.
“Hazards,” said Monsieur Martinet, “do not get up and take the balls right up to the hole, do they?”
“No. But you can’t interfere with a hazard. And if this hazard happens to be heading to the green, then the ball will have to go with it.”
You could tell that Monsieur Martinet was unhappy about this by the way he started waving his five iron round his head and yelling about how childish I was.
“ I’m childish?! I’m not the one getting all stressed out about a game.” Honestly, grown-ups talk about teenagers spending too much time online and taking games too seriously. A game of golf seems to take about three years, and they talk about it like the next stroke is going to save the world.
“Yes, childish. What kind of father are you? No wonder your daughter is so complicated when you have so little regard for rules!”
I looked at him. He really thought he was a Level Forty monster and I was some sort of Level Seven baby warrior who’d run away if he snarled at me. But I had my mentalelixir. I let it fill my brain and then I Engaged. “You think you’re a good dad? What kind of parent lets his child go off into space while he plays golf?”
Monsieur Martinet looked a bit confused when I said that. And so did the other dads. Until Dr. Drax said, “Aren’t you doing exactly that, Mr. Digby?”
Well, yes, I was but I knew that my dad would never do that. Let alone my mom. I said, “In my school—my child’s school—when they go on a trip, a responsible parent goes with them. Even if it’s only to the museum or the art
Monsieur Martinet sort of squinted, then said, “Golf is a game that teaches many of the qualities needed for success—for instance, decision making and attention to detail. Computer games, on the contrary, are for idiots.”
“Or teenagers,” said Eddie Xanadu.
I realized I’d said the wrong thing. I tried to recover a bit of ground by saying, “Let’s see if you do better then.” I’m not sure how dadly that sounded, to be honest.
The others all got their ball onto the flat bit of grass round the hole. I had to get mine out of the long grass. Dr. Drax came with me and told me I should chip the ball with a niblick. I was quite excited by that suggestion. I thought a niblick might be some slim pond-dwelling goblin, which is what it sounds like. Disappointingly, it’s just another golf stick.
It does work though. It knocked the ball straight up into the air and it plopped down on the green bit. “Well done,” said Dr. Drax. “There’s no feeling on Earth as satisfying asdropping the ball down just so like that.”
“Maybe not on Earth. I bet there are some much better feelings in space though.”
“Yes,” she said. “You’ve certainly given your daughter a great opportunity.”
Yes, I’ve given Florida a great opportunity. And I’ve given myself a niblick.
The other dads were all lined up ready to tee off again. Samson One drove his ball down the fairway in another lovely parabola. I kept hold of my niblick.
“Oh, you can’t tee off with a niblick,” smiled Dr. Drax.
“I’m not teeing off.” I chipped the ball into the back of the golf buggy.
“Now look what you’ve done,” snarled Monsieur Martinet.
“I’ve done,” I said, “a stroke of genius. When you drive up onto the green in the buggy, my ball will go to the green in the back of the buggy. And I’ll just chip it out again.”
“You can’t do that! You can’t send your ball round the golf course in a car.”
“Why not?”
“The rules. Golf has rules. Lots of rules. That’s the beauty of the game.”
Samson One said, “Logic says he can. If we think of thegolf buggy as a hazard? Well then, balls do go into hazards. Sand traps and ponds and so on.”
When you say “hazard” to normal people they think of ice on the road, or fog, or sudden invasions of Night Elves. Golfers think you mean sand. Or a puddle with a duck in it.
“Hazards,” said Monsieur Martinet, “do not get up and take the balls right up to the hole, do they?”
“No. But you can’t interfere with a hazard. And if this hazard happens to be heading to the green, then the ball will have to go with it.”
You could tell that Monsieur Martinet was unhappy about this by the way he started waving his five iron round his head and yelling about how childish I was.
“ I’m childish?! I’m not the one getting all stressed out about a game.” Honestly, grown-ups talk about teenagers spending too much time online and taking games too seriously. A game of golf seems to take about three years, and they talk about it like the next stroke is going to save the world.
“Yes, childish. What kind of father are you? No wonder your daughter is so complicated when you have so little regard for rules!”
I looked at him. He really thought he was a Level Forty monster and I was some sort of Level Seven baby warrior who’d run away if he snarled at me. But I had my mentalelixir. I let it fill my brain and then I Engaged. “You think you’re a good dad? What kind of parent lets his child go off into space while he plays golf?”
Monsieur Martinet looked a bit confused when I said that. And so did the other dads. Until Dr. Drax said, “Aren’t you doing exactly that, Mr. Digby?”
Well, yes, I was but I knew that my dad would never do that. Let alone my mom. I said, “In my school—my child’s school—when they go on a trip, a responsible parent goes with them. Even if it’s only to the museum or the art
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