On Tuesday, a bunch of us ventured north to the tiny town of Tajiri to engage in the fierce geriatric sport of "Park Golf," a three way hybrid of mini-golf, real golf, and croquet. Park golf was invented in Hokkaido in 1983, and while I don't claim to know the history of the sport, I assume the shrunken size of the courses has something to do with the high cost and unavailability of land in Japan. A park golf course is composed of nine holes and must not exceed 500 meters in total length. Standard golf rules apply, but "parkers," as they are known, are limited to one ball and one extremely short (for me) club.
With the exception of one or two families with children, we were the sole representatives of the "under 65" crowd. Old ladies with question mark postures hunched over the tees and thwacked away while their bespectacled husbands reviewed anxiously their scorecard's every chickenscratched number. Attire was thoroughly professional and accessorized to the nines with shoe-bound ball carriers and laminated scorecard protectors. Floppy hats were in abundance.
Not to be outdone by a bunch of toothless retirees, we came decked out in all manner of golf fashion. Pant cuffs were rolled, socks were hitched, and I made damn sure to doff my cap any chance I got. The old folks looked on with bemused curiosity, the men snapping their gums, the little women prim, their cotton candy hair bobbing in the late spring breeze.
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