Everyone knows about Marshall Dillon, the famous US Marshall in Dodge City. Not everyone, however, has heard of Marshall Rufus Jones. Marshall Jones was a great Golf Marshall – worked five Pro Ams at the Memphis Country Club back in the 1960’s. He was a real pro.
My great ambition in life is to become a Golf Marshall, maybe even shush the crowd at The Masters or TPC Sawgrass. I’m not interested in being a Rules Official, that would mean having to memorize a thousand pages of lawyer-speak and having to tell Dustin Johnson that what he thought was a clod of dirt was actually a sand trap. No, I would prefer to be a Golf Marshall.
Some may foolishly think a Golf Marshall has a mindless job, holding both arms high and quieting the crowd as Rory begins his backswing, but that’s not true. A great Golf Marshall holds his arms up at the precise moment and holds them high until the crowd can hear the crack of the club connecting with the dimples of a Titleist golf ball. If a Marshall drops his arms down a second too soon, some idiot will holler out “Get in the hole” and ruin an approach for Jordan Speith. If he holds up his arms too long, after the ball has settled in the distant fairway, the same guy who yells “Get in the Hole” will shout out, “Put your arms down, you moron. He’s already in the club house signing his scorecard.”
Being a Golf Marshall is a strenuous job. A good Marshall must hold his arms high in the air for perhaps 20 seconds at a time, more if it’s Bae Sang-moon, and he does this 40 or 50 times in a round. That’s hard work. Fortunately, a Golf Marshall doesn’t have to walk a long way, just to the hole he is assigned.
But it’s hard to hone your skills without practice and it’s almost impossible to practice being a Golf Marshall unless someone gives you a pass and a badge. So I practice at home. When Fox News comes on at 6 PM, I stand, hold my arms high and insist on silence from all in the room, which is usually just my wife who says, “You can put your arms down now, honey. It’s a commercial.”
Last Sunday at Church, I thought I’d do my best Golf Marshall impersonation, as the preacher was getting ready to pray. So I stood with my back to the pulpit, held my arms high and dared the congregation to make a peep.
Little did I realize that the preacher had just asked for volunteers for the every member church canvas and since I was the only one who stood and raised my arms, I am it.
When I finally get a pledge out of Ol’ Man Wilson, I’m going to play a round of golf and keep my arms to myself.