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The Buddie Life Story

Watch our movie!

If you want the short and sweet version, read on. If you want the long twisted version
click here.

The Buddie Life Story


The Good Life


This is the story of great times spent with our friends filled with:

Sunny days

Dancing nights

Humorous tall tales

Loud laughter

Joyful songs

Happy tears

Sweet drinks

Fine cigars

And fun parties

When we can say with a crazy grin, "We band of buddies, this is living!"


The Long Twisted version


Every memorable story has a modest beginning.

Some start with an idea dwelling in the depths of our mind.

Some start with a feeling that pulls at our hearts strings.

Some start with a vision of light at the end of a dark tunnel.

Some start with hearing the music of the heavenly chorus.

Some start with a spoken calling for the kings to be still and listen.

Some start with a dream we chase through the jungles of our sleep.


My story began many moons ago, on or about the 27thof February, 1996, in the company of my best friend and worthy comrade, the indelible Mr. Gary Lighting,* while soaking up the sun on one of the Caribbean's most glimmering islands: Grand Bahama. It was through the wonderful mixture of an endless brotherly friendship, a brilliant game of golf, a fine cigar, a little sippin' of the sweet rum of the Bahamas, and the swaying to and fro to the golden music of the sunny islands that my tale came to be.


*The names have been changed to protect the innocent (but in this story, more likely the guilty).


One sunny day, Gary Lighting courteously invited me to join him in a round of the idiotic and indecent gentleman's game of golf. I, being a former mediocre high school and collegiate football player, accustomed to performing in a man's gladiator arena where the blood flows like water, needed convincing. I had long held fast to the legitimate idea that guys who played golf were whiny wimps, fearful of being afflicted with the bruises and sweat that come with a real man's sport, who cried for their mommas every night before bed. I thought they looked ridiculous in their silly costumes, swinging useless sticks, trying to strike un-hittable little white balls into tiny ant-size holes in a giant garden. It was with shameful embarrassment that I finally agreed to play a round with Lighting (though I came within a breath of calling my momma for advice), but while we sat in the golf cart patiently waiting our turn on the first hole, Gary Lighting, being the backwoods genius he is, handed me a fine cigar, and my blind eyes clearly saw the glory descend from the stars! From that point on, while losing more and more balls, not to mention my shirt and pants (but not my shoes, thank you very much),  I realized that many of those who enjoy golf have an MBA-level intelligence, and that real men do, in fact, partake in this sport.


There is a popular saying adopted by many run-of-the-mill players: "Golf is the best game to be bad at." Over the years, I have kept up my proud family tradition of always being the worst sorry-ass golfer on the course. I will be written into the history books as making everyone else in my presence look like a PGA pro. In spite of constant terrible play, I have developed a deep love for the game. I've come to understand that golf and fishing are some of the most underrated team sports out there, because it's not about how well I golf or fish, but about spending quality time with my inner circle of friends who have become:








As one commands to the weak babe duckling, "Arise and Conquer!" I am very proud to lay sole claim to the title of "The World's Worst Golfer and Fishing Man." My amazing hooks and slices are truly an awe-inspiring vision to behold. You have to see them to believe it. As a result, I've become somewhat of a legend:


+  A fearsome hunter stalking all those lost golf balls hiding like fearful field mice from me in the woods.


+  A fast and strong swimmer trying to save all those helpless golf balls in the water where, I swear, their goal is to drown me.


I live by the rule of "rich" not being defined as what we have, but rather who we are with, so when the day comes for the good Lord to call my number and decide that I've lived long enough on this planet (though I will fight Him all the way to Heaven screaming for my Momma, "One more kiss from my wife! One more round to play! One more catch to hook!"), I intend to be buried with pictures of my wife, kids, and grandkids stuck into the pages of my Bible, held in my right hand, with a fine cigar in my left, and my 3-wood and fishing pole laid by my side, in reminiscence of the ancient days, when great warriors and powerful kings were laid to rest with their jewel-encrusted swords, battle-tested shields, and treasures troves of riches. My personal treasures, however, are my closest lifelong friendships, with which time stood still and the sun did not move in the sky, only to become eternally endless moments with














So there you have it, my friends, the epic story of Golf Buddie, the story of Fishin Buddie, the story of We Band of Buddies.



"There is a friend that sticketh closer than a brother." Proverbs 18.24



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