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Return to Fishing Story Archive Worms On The Green by OldMasterster85 The Maplewood Country Club in Littleton, New Hampshire needs no introduction to any one who considers himself a golfer... a chaser of small white balls. On its spacious grounds stands a magnificent hotel with large posh guest suites where an efficient room service staff fulfills any request imaginable. In the huge dining room with walls of magnificent mirrors reflecting a thousand and one lights from ancient chandeliers suspended from the ceiling, the finest meals are prepared by world famous chefs and served with impeccable care by white gloved zombies whose sole aim in life is to satisfy the most demanding tastes of the wealthy, fastidious diners assembled there between outings on the two finely tailored golf courses. On these golf courses, the fairways are cropped just right and the greens are the pride and joy of the membership and overseen by the "House Committee" whose job it is to see that not one single blade of grass is out of place for at least 25 feet in any direction from the hole. Into this holy golf kingdom, one Mr. Roberts and spouse wandered. They were tourists on their annual tour of the New England countryside. And they were eager to attempt some fishing in the famous waters of New Hampshire. The Roberts liked the best of everything so it it was only natural that they chose the famed Maplewood Country Club as their base of operations. Although he was an avid fisherman and although he had all of the appropriate fly fishing gear, Roberts knew nothing of fly fishing with flies. No, he never used those delicate things tied with fur and feathers. Roberts used WORMS. After an elaborate dinner Roberts sat himself down in a comfortable wicker chair and gazed at the 18th hole green that lay just across the road. It looked like the smooth top of a fine billiard table. As an avid fisherman, Roberts for many years had roamed his neighbors lawns on dark nights, searchlight in one hand and other hand held ready to grab the worm that lay fully extended in the grass. He would grab it quickly, before it could retract back into its hole. That was how he got his worms. It was difficult when the grass was tall. Looking at the flat, smooth 18th hole golf green, Roberts thought "What a spot to get some fat nightcrawlers. The grass is so nice and flat. It should be easy to pick up enough worms for tomorrow's fishing.". So, after dark, he picked up his searchlight and other paraphernalia and set out across the road in the direction of that 18th hole green. Roberts was unaware of the fact that some ten or twelve club members, all ardent golfers, were seated on the porch watching the moving flashlight. It didn't take long before they realized some idiot was trampling on the 18th hole green, the pride of the Maplewood Country Club. As a group, they rushed down the steps, raced across the road and onto the green where they caught Roberts trying to pry a worm out of its hole with a small hand shovel. They seized him, picked him up bodily and carried him off of the green kicking and screaming. Then they unceremoniously dumped him on the porch followed minutes later by his clothing, his valises, his tackle and a semi hysterical lady who didn't understand why they were being evicted. As Roberts was being half escorted, half carried off the grounds he was heard to cry "Give me my worms!". Whereupon, his wife launched into a tirade that is best not repeated here. Moral... You never, but NEVER, take nightcrawler worms from a golf course, especially the 18th hole green of the Maplewood Country Club.
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