Senior Fall Classic: Shooting in the 80s features turf surfing, fairway flopping

Bob Morrissey

Something unexpected happened to me on the golf course recently, and it had nothing to do with me finally hitting a decent shot. That usually comes in late August.

No, I took a scary dramatic tumble walking to my electric golf cart, distracted after ripping a low screamer into the pond. It wasn’t what I’d call a senior moment because I slipped on wet slimy mud after too many rainfalls. It was more like a climate moment — with silly me not concentrating on where I was walking.

When my fall happened, the two players I was playing with were leisurely strolling about 50 yards ahead of me toward the green. They became aware of my plight only when I tried to get up but couldn’t — and not for lack of trying.

“I need some help, guys,” I shouted. “I can’t move.” They both ran to the rescue, and the younger and stronger of the two bent down behind me, and hoisted me into the electric golf cart by my armpits.

“Boy, are you a mess,” he said, looking at my muddy clothing and a quarter-size smudge of blood on my pant leg. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” I quipped, trying to make light of the moment.  “My ball’s in the water; I’m lying three.”

“Very funny … but how do you feel? Can you continue?”

“Yes,” I said, and then made a mess of the last two holes before dragging myself back to my car in the club’s parking lot, hoping I’d gone unnoticed. Fifteen minutes later I was home, shaky and sore but not surprised. After all, I’ve fallen five times in the last three years, not counting the two times I might have been, um, slightly over-refreshed.

One second you’re upright, the next you’re flat in your back, stunned and embarrassed, but also grateful the only thing hurting is your pride. Oh, and congratulations on becoming a statistic: You’re among the one in four people over 65 who fall at least once a year. But luckily you’re not among the 7,621 Canadians over 65 who died from falls last year. Damn those office Christmas parties.

Yes, getting old is a pain in the neck, not to mention other parts of the body. But it’s especially so when you’re in your 80s — and I’m 83.

The good news is that if you’re in your mid-70s today you can still look forward to five or six more years of relatively sound health. You won’t be running marathons anymore, but at least you’ll be able to tie your own shoelaces.

Walking might be a little painful, but you know it’s only going to get worse. And then it’s hell. You’ll still be able to drive, only maybe not at night. Yes, you might have to use the bathroom more than you’d like, and you’ll still have to deal with nagging aches and pains, digestion issues, sleep and hearing problems, forgetfulness, hospital visits, long buffet lines and Trump lies. But many of these problems can be managed with medication, exercise, patience and a case of 24.

However, when you reach your 80s nothing seems to help. By now, your knees scream every time you try to walk or get off a chair or couch. Balance can be a problem so say goodbye to line-dancing, pickleball and Saturday morning putting contests on synthetic grass at your seniors’ residence. So much for living the dream.

But it gets worse. You can’t, as they say, “hold it” so now you’re a dribbler. Sudden bathroom urges can lead to a desperate race against time — a race that often ends with an unscheduled shower and a change of underwear. It never fails: You’re half a foot away from the toilet bowl when the worst happens. As Maxwell Smart would say: “Missed it by THAT much.”

And those aches and pains are now yours forever. There’s no medicine or exercise that can help you now. Your TV is your best friend and nodding off is pure bliss. Unlike in your 70s, there are no good and bad days. They’re all mostly just so-so … unless, of course, you’re a Canadiens’ hockey fan. Go Habs Go!