Each month, I buy a book of twenty stamps. I create twenty post cards. I write twenty short stories about them. I send them to twenty strangers. This is the twenty stamps project.

Request a postcard by sending your snail mail address to sean.arthur.cox@gmail.com or find me on facebook at https://www.facebook.com/SeanArthurCox

Monday, August 17, 2015

The Has-Been Dinosaur



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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