When I saw Bayonne trending on Twitter this morning, my heart leapt for joy. Bayonne, New Jersey might be the worst town in all of America, but it’s the home of my happy place: Bayonne Golf Club.
I’ve written about my beloved golf club before, but from Christmas-April 1st, I feel especially heartsick. The course shuts down for the winter and my withdrawal symptoms include mood swings, subway platform air practice swings, weight loss, pale face, bitch shoulders, and sober Saturdays. I’m not joking at all. Getting outside to play golf on the weekends from April 1-mid December brings me more joy and elevates my mood better than any diet, exercise plan, or drug I’ve ever known.
For all the jokes and memes about wives and girlfriends being annoyed that their guy is going to play golf, my girlfriend actually pushes me out the door and forces me to go. For she knows that when I return, I will be much more fun to be around.
As I clicked on the trending Bayonne, I thought… are they opening the course early? Did I not get an email? Has the course been named to the World’s Top 100 Golf Courses? Maybe they got their new spring gear in? Am I going to miss out on the new quarter zips? They go so fast. Should I get over there right now?
None of the above. Instead, the fucking Coronavirus *may* have made landfall just a smooth 7-iron from our 16th green. On a cruise ship, no less. Of course I’ve seen this massive ship many times. We actually use its smokestacks as targets on certain holes with blind tee shots. In that regard, it has been a helpful landmark… until now. Of course, if there were ever a vessel to carry the Coronavirus to our shores, it would inevitably be a cruise ship. Talk about a contrast. On one hand, the most pristine, manicured, classy place ever in Bayonne Golf Club. On the other, a literal disease incubator ferrying the world’s least ambitious humans who, of course, would be riddled with this epidemic.
It’s scary as hell, obviously. Many of the tweets responding to the news are pretty xenophobic. I personally don’t give a bat’s ass about who or what brings this shit over here as long as they keep the sick passengers away from the golf course. Our staff is so nice and inviting, always looking you in the eye to shake your hand, always wishing you a good round and meaning it, always letting you recap your game in the proshop even though they’ve heard it 4,000 times that day. “On twelve, I skulled a wedge over the green and settled for double. Otherwise, I was on pace to shoot 67. Ended with an 86, not terrible.” Ok boomer. The last thing I would ever want is for any of our pros or outside ops guys to contract this shit. I get emotional thinking about it.
To sum it all up, I turn to my idol and personal poet laureate on all matters macabre. I saw Bill Burr perform this bit at Madison Square Garden and to this day, it was the best joke I’ve ever seen. Watch the whole clip, trust me: