A few years ago, at a big golf tournament, I overheard a young man explaining the secret of golf career success to anyone within range, myself included.  "First," he proclaimed loudly, "you must only intern at the top courses, the ones that host majors.  Never accept a job anywhere else--and never work for a superintendent that's not famous."

I see what I did wrong.

His speech reminded me of something deep in my memory banks, back when I gave notice at a low level Skeletal Golf Course and was asked to delay until the New Guy arrived.

He was from Big Country Club, or BCC, and according to our Owner/GM/Janitor/Bartender, New Guy would begin to accomplish miracles as soon as I got out of his way.  New Guy had a sparkling pedigree, having worked at BCC since his freshman year of college.  Owner/GM also told me, repeatedly, that New Guy would raise the bar, push the envelope, see things with new eyes and take the club in a new direction.

When New Guy rode in, amidst trumpets and a choir, I offered to brief him and give a quick tour, but he waved me off.  Before I made it to my truck, New Guy hollered, "Hey!  Where's my assistant?"

"Uh," I may have grinned too big, "that would be you."

"Where's the crew?"

New Guy hollered, "Hey!  Where's my assistant?" "Uh," I may have grinned too big, "that would be you."

I pointed at the two old guys sitting on the tailgate of a broken down Ford.  "Fella on the right is your mechanic, at least two days a week.  He's kinda sensitive.  The other guy is your crew.  He's also the owner's personal spy, so be careful what you say."

"What about the irrigation tech?  The spray tech?"

"Again, you.  Did nobody tell you this was a low-budget club??

New Guy shook his head and glanced over at his car.  His weight shifted slightly toward the parking lot.

"Is this the first time you've seen this kind of operation?  Surely you haven't spent your whole career on courses like BCC?"

New Guy rattled his car keys in his pocket and I thought I saw a tear in the corner of his eye.

"Hey," I said as cheerfully as possible, "it'll be great.  You'll get used to doing all the spraying and mowing and digging holes--you have dug holes before, right?"

"No, mostly I just rode around with a clipboard and pointed at things . . . oh, and I went to a lot of meetings."

New Guy lasted about a year, I think.  Last I heard he was mowing lawns and the course won the Darwin Award, becoming an apartment complex.

In Skeletal Golf Theory, it's better to have a little time on a Lazarus Course before you go directly from college to Top Ten.  You know, have a Contingency Plan.  For instance, what if you got caught in a recession and downsized?  Or what if you were accused of cavorting with the Club President's wife?  It's best to be prepared.

It takes years to learn low-budget Skeletal Golf skills; high tech science and the ability to delegate is great, but actual front line experience in the trenches--and I mean real trenches--is critical.  There are no irrigation techs at Skeletal Golf level.  It's just you.

Here's a short Skeletal Golf Theory training film on interacting with Boomers at a low level course.  It's different than at BCC.