There was a time, back when
mini-golf was in its heyday, when Marty the Minigolfosaurus was something of a
celebrity. All the hottest courses wanted him. All the other mini-golf
dinosaurs wanted to be him. All the best mini-golfers wanted to try their skill
against him. Marty couldn’t step onto grass without someone asking him to roar
and maybe smack a ball aside.
He was living the dream.
Beautiful reptiles. Fast cars. Big paychecks. A dinosaur couldn’t ask for
anything more. Yes, these truly were the halcyon days for Marty the
Minigolfosaurus.
But nothing lasts forever.
Bowling became the thing. Laser tag. Arcades came and went, along with the
cars, the money, the fame. He could barely find work standing in cornfields
swatting away mice.
When Happy Gilmore came out, he brushed off the dust and brushed up on
his roar. Surely with a box office hit comedy starring a big name draw like
Adam Sandler, mini-golf would catch on again in a big way and he’d be back in
the high life again.
But the mini-golf craze
didn’t catch on again. Adam Sandler followed up shortly thereafter in which he
played another idiot savant athlete, only this time in an already popular
sport, and away went his dreams of the great mini-golf revival.
These days, Marty the
Minigolfosaurus mostly just hangs out in his overgrown front lawn, his arms too
short to reach the mower, and his finances to tight to pay someone to trim it
for him. All day, he bats at whatever kids or critters may wander by and yells
at them with a loud “Get off my lawn.” Is he bitter? A little. Resentful?
Perhaps. Longing for the good old days? Absolutely. But that’s not why he
yells, why he chases kids away. In his mind, he’s practicing, always
practicing. Practicing his roar. Practicing at knocking away small things that
get too close. Practicing for the day he knows deep in his heart of hearts will
one day come. The day when people chant “Marty! Marty!” over obstacle-filled
putting greens. The day mini-golf returns.
- Originally mailed to A.C. in Mississippi
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