[...]... grass Trying vainly to banish thoughts of “The Tortoise and the Hare” metaphors from my mind, I march off into the high weeds I wave on the group behind us While the charging foursome of Scotsmen play their tee shots, I stand in the rough looking backward toward the tee Don, I notice with some chagrin, is lying down on the right side of the fairway, apparently staring at the flinty blue sky Since each... sport somehow sustains him through the visceral problem of getting himself and his accoutrements around the links All the way in, “gettin’ hoom” in the poetic local parlance, Don makes noises about having nothing left, of being totally exhausted, of being finished Yet he still scores, the thieving bastard! Royal Aberdeen is blanketed with gorse, that nefariously thorny plant species seemingly put on earth... say, walking off the green, toward our cart, “there’s nothing quite so sweet as standing on the first tee of some great course— 19 20 IN SEARCH OF BURNINGBUSH Carnoustie, St Andrews, Dornoch—having all these grizzled Scotsmen sizing you up, looking at you like, I don’t know, like you’re a wee dram of whisky, and then just smokin’ one down the middle You just feel like, ‘Yeah, I’m at the home of golf... miraculous kick off an exceedingly friendly dune 15 yards to the right of the putting surface—Don is still wheezing as he puts his tee in the ground He hits his iron shot weak and to the right, throws down his club in disgust, and proceeds to make an untidy bogey 9 10 IN SEARCH OF BURNINGBUSH I can tell he’s angry Not at the golf course Not at me Not at the groups gaining ground behind us Don’s angry... trying valiantly to hide my perturbation “Yeah, thanks You know, I’m working on ” He tells me something or other about some sort of swing arcana involving elbow position or something, but I’m not listening I’m seeing into the future, about four hours from now And I’m seeing myself saying something gracious when I lose this golf match to Gimpy Don, a guy who shouldn’t even be on a golf course in the... on a foundation of virility and aggression Don Naifeh makes few bad swings When he does, what follows is not the expected string of juicy expletives and hail of clubs being thrown in disgust The guy actually smiles after a poor shot, and following a moment of reflection he says something utterly annoying like, “Well, I learned something there.” I smirk outwardly But inwardly I’m thinking I have never... he uttered a cross word during our happy round of golf A strange and unfamiliar sense of calm has enveloped me during our tour of the TPC course, a feeling of equanimity that I associate with long afternoons spent drinking wine and making love, not digging up sod on an emerald fairway So therapeutic has Don’s presence been to me that when our round ends I find I don’t mind in the slightest that I have... him at risk of fractures from activities as putatively benign as shaking hands or walking down a flight of stairs His pelvis is held together by several five-inch steel screws in his hips and a six-inch plate on his right femur, metallic reminders of a lifetime of broken ankles, cracked knees, shattered elbows, mangled hands, splintered fingers, and degenerating toes His right leg is three inches shorter... playing for “a little something.” But still I’m financially well-off; he’s not I travel the world for an airline magazine and play the best golf courses on the planet; he usually digs up the sod at ratty municipal courses I’m in training for the Los Angeles marathon; he’s lucky to shuffle in and out of a golf cart without snapping a fibula Despite a natural predisposition to compassion and kindness instilled... sits directly in front of a stately white clubhouse, whose large picture windows afford a splendid perspective of the Grampian coast Members enjoying the otherwise unspoiled view of the North Sea may choose to inspect the swings of visiting hackers—or turn away in horror, if necessary As I wave a few irons to warm up, I notice several of the club’s older members looking toward me and Don, trying discreetly . h1" alt="" In Search of Burningbush This page intentionally left blank a story of golf, friendship, and the meaning of irons In Search of Burningbush Michael. for holding up play at one of the oldest golf clubs (founded 1780!) on the planet. The satisfying crack IN SEARCH OF BURNINGBUSH 2 of titanium meeting Surlyn