Oh my god, okay it's happening, everybody stay calm!
That famous meme from The Office sums up the emotions of die-hard golfers living in a temperate climate when word gets out that golf courses are about to open for the season.
That exact situation is playing out this week for yours truly after the email from my golf club that my course is opening this Wednesday.
It's not just me either. I recently spoke with an anonymous hockey writer — who wasn't authorized to speak on such happy things — and he was writing his heartbreaking playoff-ending story through tears of joy because his club opens this week.
That's what golf can do to people, and if you know, you know. It's also why I like living in a place where we get all four seasons.
Yes, winter is about a month too long and fall seems to last exactly six days in Southern Ontario, but the anticipation of that first round of golf is the closest we get as adults to what kids feel on Christmas Eve.
In this line of work, I travel south a lot and constantly hear from golfers who pity our six-month season. They can't imagine what a sad existence it must be for a golfer.
In turn, I try to explain to them all the things they are missing.
There is nothing like the rebirth of spring to fill your soul -- and golf game -- with hope. You see friends you haven't seen since the last bogey of the year was made in fall. Conversations with your golf buddies instantly pick up right where they left off, which is usually, and wonderfully, absolutely nowhere.
Then summer hits with long days of stifling heat and you book tee time after tee time after tee time. Your game will come and go about 17 times over the course of three months, and avid golfers will settle into such a rhythm that your brain is almost tricked into believing summer will never end. Wipe on the sunscreen, rinse, and repeat.
When the humidity drops and leaves begin to turn, you look around and marvel at the beauty of it all. With temperatures plummeting, you are determined to squeeze every last drop out of the golf season. Scores matter less, but that's a welcome change. Tuques come out, and if you are of the sporting type, perhaps a bottle of Baileys finds its way into your golf bag to be blended lovingly with your morning coffee somewhere in the first fairway.
Then suddenly, and it's always suddenly no matter how many seasons you've been doing this, it's all over.
If golf is a metaphor for life, it works much better with four seasons.
But let's not get too deep, because as I mentioned earlier, for a lot of men (maybe women too, but I doubt it) golf is four -- hopefully never five -- hours of talking about absolutely nothing. And, to mix my Seinfeld sayings, it's fantastic.
For example, I have played 15 years with the same group of guys and I would bomb any test about them that goes any deeper than favourite sports teams, favourite drink, what TV show they are watching, and wive's first names ... maybe.
I didn't realize this until a few years ago when one of my neighbours joined our golf club. He's very social and very curious about everyone. After his first week playing with us, he knew far more about my friends than I did. Which was nice because he gave me the Coles notes.
There's a comedian named Brian Regan who did a bit about this very topic a few years ago, and to steal an Oprah moment, when I watched it I felt like someone finally understood me.
It's not that there haven't been any serious conversations over the past 15 years; it's just that, in a weird way, in the big picture, those seem far less important than the inane discussions that have become the soundtrack of our summers.
So, pour yourself a little Bailey's in your coffee (because spring mornings can be cold as well), and share a toast to ring in the opening of the golf season: Here's to another fruitful year of turning a blind eye to the world's problems and learning nothing about your friends.
