The Ratings Game : . . . Then Hook Up With a Golfer Who Had to Cheat to Break 100

When the opportunity arose to play the 18 toughest golf holes in the San Fernando Valley, I jumped at it. It should be noted, however, that I have also jumped at the opportunity to have an Oldsmobile station wagon filled with cast iron machine parts driven repeatedly over my knees. And I also enjoy brushing my teeth with a No. 6 steel brush, the kind used to rip excess mortar off a brick chimney.

So let’s tee it up.

Oakmont, No. 8: You get not one but two chances to climb down a 25-foot concrete drainage ditch in search of your golf ball. And once down there, it’s really nice, what with all that foul swamp water rushing past those rusty old shopping carts. Alas, this hole deprives me of that pleasure. I hit my drive about 270 yards to the left side of the fairway, drill a 6-iron back over the ditch onto the green and two-putt from eight feet for a par. Tough? Getting hammered at a Mormon picnic is tough. This was nothing. I’m even-par after the first of the toughest.

North Ranch, No. 18: The blue tees are set so far back it appears you’ll have to drive through the heart of a forest to reach the fairway. This, of course, is because you have to drive through the heart of a forest to reach the fairway. My drive sails through the forest but hangs a right and settles about 30 feet from a 40-ton earth mover that whines louder than Sean Penn. All I have to do here is block out the sound of a machine the size of Rhode Island, hit off a gravel surface over a pond and three sand traps and onto the green 210 yards away. Amazingly, I am unable to do this. The ball catches the far lip of the pond and plops back into the water. My fourth shot catches the green and I three-putt. Triple-bogey seven. I’m 3 over par.

Valencia, No. 9: I crush a drive and the ball stops 290 yards away, in the middle of the fairway. The first fairway. This causes quite a bit of excitement among three gentlemen playing that hole. Although they are so far away I can’t quite make out any words, they are apparently thrilled at having such a fine shot land so close to them. They begin barking out congratulations. One of them is so happy he begins doing a strange dance, waving his arms and raising one finger at me. I guess I’ve made their day, but there’s still some golf to be played. My second shot is a three-wood blast that slices, slams a tree and drops straight down. I’ve still got 80 yards to the pin and I get there with a bad wedge shot, two bad chips and two bad putts. I take a double-bogey seven and am 5 over par.

Wood Ranch, No. 13: Par-3 with water. Let’s take out the handy little golfer’s Water-And-Ball Gauge and figure it out . . . OK, it says ‘Take out the range ball.’ I do and loft a 6-iron at the green but push it to the right, into a trap. For my next trick, I blast from the trap onto the green, over a 20-foot long bridge that connects the green to the mainland. Then I three-putt and throw the stupid little ball with the red stripe around it into the pond. Double-bogey five. Now 7 over par.

Saticoy, No. 14: From this tee you can see all the way to Camarillo, although I’m not sure why you’d want to. Far below, off a cliff, are lettuce fields. My drive is yanked left and . . . well, let’s make this simple: If you’re eating a salad this week and break a few teeth when you chomp on a Top-Flite No. 3, gimme a call, OK? Those things cost two bucks each. I struggle mightily the rest of the way on this par-5 and my ball finally drops into the cup after I take eight ugly passes at it. Triple-bogey. Now 10 over par.

Oakmont, No. 12: The undulating fairway makes it likely you’ll have an uphill or downhill lie for your second shot if you drive straight. The location of Verdugo Road alongside the fairway makes it likely you’re going to sock a Titleist off a motorist’s forehead if you hit the ball to the right. Fearful of a lawsuit, I yank the ball left, away from the road and into a tree. My second shot from 220 yards out avoids some towering trees and the ball stops 40 feet in front of the green. I two-putt, although the first putt would have dropped if that idiot with the bad muffler didn’t drive by. Bogey-5. Now 11 over.

Wood Ranch, No. 10: This hole might be a little easier if the wind wasn’t threatening to beat you to death with your own eyebrows. I bomb a drive 280 yards into the wind and leave my second shot on the fringe of the green. A chip and two putts give me a bogey-5, but I’m ecstatic about playing this hole without having one of my limbs jerked from its socket by the wind. Now 12 over.

Valencia, No. 8: Valencia, for you gringos, is a Spanish word meaning “What the hell are you doing on a golf course in this heat?” It’s 100 degrees, but at least it’s really humid. And in this weather, we find a neat little 470-yard, par-4 hole. It’s a joke. Crank out a ridiculously long drive and then you only need an unbelievably long second shot to reach the green in regulation. Because of this poor frame of mind and some unrelated personal problems, I get a double-bogey 6 and am now 14 over par. I would rather be having inner-ear surgery with no anesthetic.

North Ranch, No. 14: With three magnificent homes sitting just yards off the fairway, I can almost hear the sound of expensive glass shattering and people yelping in pain as I draw back the driver. But I boom a big one and avoid those houses. However, there are other houses lining the fairway and my ball trickles under the fence of one of them, apparently the home of a family named O’Brien. I know this because the letters OB are painted all over the fence. Pulling the ball out of the O’Briens’ yard, I hit my second shot 150 yards onto the front of the green and two-putt for a par-4. Thanks to the O’Briens, I stay at 14 over par.

Wood Ranch, No. 12: Ah, back to the Wind Ranch Golf Club. Ever try playing when you have to secure the ball to the tee with contact cement? Have a hard time concentrating on golf when small rodents are being hurtled through the air and are slamming into you? Well, then this is not the place for you. However, I whack a 285-yard drive, knock an 8-iron 30 feet from the pin and curl in the long putt for a birdie, OK? A stinking birdie! I love this hole. I love wind. Down to 13 over par.

Wood Ranch, No. 1: You will not par this hole. Ever. I don’t care if you play it five times a day for the rest of your life, or until the day Tom Lasorda’s ribs protrude. You won’t par this hole. Four hundred yards long and you can’t use your driver. You shouldn’t use any other club, either. There is a swamp in the fairway. There is more sand around the green than there is in Ronald Reagan’s eyes, not that you’re going to get to the green in the first half-hour or so. If you hit three perfect shots, the shots of your life, you can putt for a bogey. I get an 8 and rocket to 17 over par. My guess is the guy who came up with the idea for this hole enjoys placing a sharp dental instrument in his back pocket and then sliding into second base.

Valencia, No. 1: “It’s a par-5, but we call it a par-4,” head pro Greg McHatton said of this 470-yard monster. I hoped that attitude wasn’t also prevalent at the snack bar. A little quip like, “Those are elk droppings you’re eating but we call them croutons” can ruin your day. I rip a 280-yard drive down the dead middle of the fairway only to face a downhill lie and 190 yards to the green. And there’s a mound in the green so high that you don’t know whether to walk over it or place flowers on it and offer a prayer. My putt stops on the top of the hump and I get a double-bogey 6. Now 19 over par.

Saticoy, No. 17: This hole has an elevated tee. Manute Bol is a bit thin. Both are vast understatements. The toughest part of this hole is getting those Sherpa guides and their llamas to quiet down while you’re teeing off. You can see Port Hueneme from the tee, but you can’t see the fairway. My drive carries to the right, over a trap, off a hill and stops in the rough. The ball is in the air about seven minutes. A 6-iron leaves me in front of the green and I end up with a bogey-5. Glad to be done with this hole. Let’s see Ben Crenshaw swing a club with that oxygen tank hanging on his back! Now 20 over par.

El Caballero, No. 2: My drive sails out of bounds but my partner is in the bushes and isn’t watching so I don’t count it. My next drive lands in the right rough. My second shot lands in the right rough. My third shot lands in the right rough. Ever want to heave your clubs into a lake and walk away from this moronic game? Well, I stupidly fight off the urge. I make a nice putt to save a triple-bogey 7 and fall to 23 over par.

Wood Ranch, No. 16: More wind. Round 2 of the Don King Open. Another tee in the clouds enables you to see past Simi Valley, which isn’t a bad idea at all. A dozen signs warning you of rattlesnakes put your mind at ease. A double-bogey is one thing. Dying a slow and horrible death is something else. Want to beat your buddy on this hole? Make sure he sees all the snake signs and then crouch behind him on the tee and touch his foot lightly with your club a split second before he hits his drive. The screaming wind pushes my drive right, behind a swamp and a stand of cattails. But I knock a wedge over the swamp and onto the green and two-putt for a par. I now think I am good.

El Caballero, No. 17: My drive goes right, onto the 12th fairway. So does my second shot. But my best recovery of the week leaves me with a 10-foot putt for birdie, which I miss. But having to settle for a par on this hole is like having to settle for a weekend in a big tub with The Bangles.

Wood Ranch, No. 5: Far to the left of the fairway roar two giant bulldozers, readying the ground for a few more of those distinctive homes that about 30,000 people have bought in Simi Valley in the past few years. Somehow you get the idea that before you’re finished with this hole the bulldozer operators are going to learn what it means when a hysterical man screams “FORE.” But a decent drive and a very good 5-iron put me on the fringe. From there I only have to slap the ball around three times before it falls into the cup for a bogey-5 on the No. 1 handicap hole on a, well, how can I say this tactfully . . . on a ridiculous golf course. I am now 24 over par.

Valencia, No. 12: The pond leaps out in front of the green on this 227-yard, par-3 hole. You can be a wimp and lay up with your tee shot. But real golfers go for the green here. And real golfers lose an enormous number of golf balls here. There are two kids fishing in the pond as I tee off, and I don’t know about you, but when I see a carp thrashing around in the water less than 10 feet from the pin and a duck swimming right in front of the pin, that bothers me a lot. But the best 2-iron shot of my life sends the ball soaring over bass and mallard, stopping 15 feet from the pin. Two putts and I par the toughest hole in the Valley. What an easy game.

What about that score of 96, you ask? Listen, buddy. Anybody can have a few bad holes.