Tales Of A RATT (29 page)

I've been playing golf since that day in Maui when Marshall Berle introduced me to it at Kapalua.

My opinion of golf as "baseball for fags" completely changed that afternoon. I love it. I don't play as much as I used to, unfortunately. I mean, I used to play three times a week. Now days, I might play once a week, or even once every two weeks.

I've discovered that the amount of time I spend playing golf is directly proportional with my urge to whack the shit out of some asshole with a stick!

When I'm on tour, I love it when there are a couple of guys in the other acts with us on tour who play golf. If there are, one of the first priorities in a new city is to find a course and shoot a round.

That's why I loved touring with Warrant. Those guys all play, so we'd be on a different course every day. We'd play the best country clubs in the world for free, and it makes the day pass that much quicker!

As soon as I got home from Hawaii, I started golfing all the time. At first, I sucked, but I refused to take lessons, either. Call me stubborn, or whatever, but I was self taught, much like in my music.

This is not, by the way, how I would recommend a novice golfer to go about learning. Once you develop bad habits with your swing, learning to do it correctly is like learning how to fuck without losing your cherry. It's pretty much not going to happen.

I started out playing Los Verdes Golf Course at the Palos Verdes Country Club. That became my home course for years. I'd play with an array of people; Jimmy Bane from Dio, Rod Smallwood, the manager of Iron Maiden, Vince Neil and Tommy, plus a ton of friends who weren't famous.

It was amazing to me how many of my bros actually played the game. You don't usually think of rock stars when you think of the golf course. Most people picture a bunch of stiff, white guys with bodies like biscuit dough and asses shaped like an office chair.

On the rare occasion that I hear people talk trash about golf, I just shake my head, because they don't get it. When you hit a driver 275 yards, which is three times as far as a baseball player can hit a baseball; when you drop a birdie from 40 feet away; when you take a 6 iron and punch it in on a par three, two inches from the hole; until you have done those things, don't talk to me about golf.

Golf is a sport that has changed the mentalities of our world. Let me explain. Go back a hundred years, before Americans really embraced golf. Back then, if you saw a bunch of white guys chasing a black dude, it's because they were fucking with him. Today, if you see a bunch of white guys chasing a black dude, chances are they're playing in a PGA tournament, and they've got a Tiger by the tail.

That's the beauty of it. It transcends all walks of life. Golf is the only sport where you can smoke weed like Tommy Chong (we call that "swing doctoring"), cigarettes like Keith Richards and drink booze like Dean Martin and still be brilliant at the game. It's an "everyman" sport.

On some of these courses, you're on a billion dollar playground! Some of the places sit on real estate in areas that sell for $3 million a quarter acre, and these courses are 18 holes, seven thousand three hundred yards, or whatever. But, think about it. You're playing in eighteen different parks, and for fifteen or twenty minutes each hole, that park is yours and yours alone.

There are so many gorgeous sights to be seen, and smelled, and just absorbed. I'm so happy that I got the chance to learn to play golf. It's a beautiful release, let me tell you.

I've played with Alice Cooper a few times, and that dude is the standard for all rock star golfers. He's good enough, he could survive in the PGA tour...well, maybe the Senior Tour. I'm not quite at Alice's level, yet. He shoots around a three handicap. Right now, I'm playing at about a seven. The lowest I've ever gotten is a five. Which means I've got to shoot a 75 or a 77 every round.

That's hard to maintain.

I could be having a great game for fifteen holes, and be three over; then double bogey the last three holes and kill my score. That will make you want to take some hostages!

Golf is a total mind game. You never know when you're game is going to go "hubcaps & lugnuts" and the wheels come flying off.

We had a group of golf guys called "The Braemar Cartel". This was around 1999 through 2003. That group included Tommy Thayer from KISS and Black and Blue; Ricky Phillips of Styx; Eric Turner, Jerry Dixon and Jani Lane from Warrant; my good friend, Glen Granat; Gary Ruddell and Robbie Crane, Pat "Gay-Day" Gaday, Barkley Martin; there were about fourteen of us, all total. That was great, because we literally had a game three or four times a week. I loved it.

After a while, everyone kind of pulled away and moved off, but we had a web site for a while where everyone would enter their scores, and get their handicaps. It was a lot of fun.

We came up with the name "Braemar Cartel" because that's where we played. When I was living in Encino, we played over at Braemar Country Club in Tarzana. For anyone that watches that Scott Baio reality show, "Scott Baio is 46, and Pregnant", he lives on that golf course. When you see him golfing, that's at the Braemar Country Club.

On May 27, 1994, down at Los Verdes Golf Course, I got every golfers wet dream. A hole-in-one!

I had just come off having the best round that I've ever shot. I shot a 75. We decided that we wanted to shoot one more round, and I was on my way to the second best round I've ever had. I don't know what got into me, but I was shooting lights out that day.

It was getting dark, and we were on the 17th hole. I drilled my shot, watched the ball sail in a perfect line, and drop a hole-in-one. I got the certification and everything. Absolutely amazing.

Of course, I've never done it again...YET!

Robinson Ranch, my main track out in Canyon Country, is one of my favorite places to play. My buddies Rick Smith, and Larry Atlas were big RATT fans. I met them about five years ago, and they both run the place. I enjoy playing so much, that I was ready to join the country club.

Rick goes, "Why would you join? If you want to play, just give me a call and I'll get you in.”

I go, "Yeah, but what if I want to play a LOT!”

"Just call me, Blotz. If I can get you on, I'll get you on.”

You gotta love having bros with connections!

There's a course in Pittsburgh called Diamond Run. I play there with my buddy "Big Joe" and this guy named Mickey gets us out there. It's an absolutely beautiful track. Very private and exclusive. Presidents play this course, and it's one of my favorite places. I go out there with my brother, Michael, my cousin Chuck, or Big Joe. It's good times all the way around.

I used to play a lot with Doc McGhee, who was Bon Jovi and Mötley Crüe's manager. I remember one time, I was playing with Doc, his dad, Frank, and Vince Neil.

We were playing down in Newport, at Bear Creek, where Doc was a member. Vince wasn't a very good golfer back then. I don't know what he shoots now, but then it was pretty bad.

Vince was getting so pissed!

He kept worm-burning everything. For people who don't know what that is, it's when you hit the ball and it doesn't get into the air. It just shoots across the grass. We call that a worm-burner.

He lost his mind at one point.

We were hitting over water to get to the green, and it was going to be the third shot. Everyone had laid up in front of the water, then took another shot to get on the green. I'm not sure where everyone's ball was. I think mine was a little off. Doc's was on, I think. I don't remember.

But, Vince still has to get over the water.

When Vince sets up to take his shot, he fires the ball straight into the lake! It hit so hard, it practically left a rooster tail behind it.

He screams, "Fuck it!” Then, staring at the water, he starts wailing on the ground with his club.

Doc goes, "That's alright, Vince. Just drop another one.”

Vince regains some of his composure and drops another ball. He lines up, and sure enough, BOOM, he drills it right into the water!

He stomps off to the cart, pulls his bag of clubs off the back, and heaves them into the lake!

I was like, "Okay. This is good. I'm loving this.” We were all just standing there silent, kind of shaking our heads in wonder and amazement at this total meltdown Vince is trudging through. I mean, I was laughing so hard inside.

I've seen some shit with the Mötley boys, but THAT was some SHIT! I've witnessed some classic moments with the guy. Vince is always good for some entertainment.

The rest of us went to the green, and finished out the hole. Vince is sitting in the cart, just steaming; he's so pissed off. We finish out the hole, and go, "Vince, you sure you don't want to…?”

"Fuck it! No! Leave them there!”

So, we drive away.

After about five minutes, he goes, "Son-of-a-bitch!”

He takes the cart while we're teeing the next hole, and drives back to fish his golf clubs out of the lake. We're just dying, trying not to laugh, which only would have made matters worse.

We go back to check on him, and he's standing knee deep in the water, fishing around for his bag with a club. You have no idea how painful it was to keep that laughter on the inside.

We watched for a few minutes, then went back to our game. I don't think he ever found the bag. Eventually, he just split, still fuming and embarrassed, I'm sure.

This next story I have on video. After we shot the "Nobody Rides For Free" video, I was over at Tommy and Heather's house in North Ranch, staying a couple of days with them.

Tommy was a member of North Ranch Country Club, which is very exclusive. In fact, he had to go in front of a board of directors to get approval to join. They had pictures of him in concerts where after his drum solo he would turn around and moon the audience.

They're like, "What's this?”

Tommy had to explain to them, "Look, that's a show. It's all about the comedy and entertainment of the moment. It's the end of the drum solo, and is just for fun.”

He eventually got his membership and his gold plate with his name on it. His locker was right next to Frankie Avalon's. He thought that was so cool. So did I, for that matter.

We were out golfing at North Ranch. Tommy's just stinking it up, man. We're drinking coldies and having a good time. He hits this one shot, and shanks it as badly as I've ever seen a shot shanked. I'm video taping at the time, because it was such a scenic spot we were at. It was right by this mammoth, ancient oak tree. Just incredible.

On videotape, you hear me going, "Don't worry about the video camera, dude. Just keep your head down!”

Fucking hysterical.

He hits the shot, and hooks it. It goes ninety degrees to the left. I start laughing at him, and he goes, "Son-of-a-bitch!” He takes the club, and with two hand just wings it as far as he can throw! It's making this helicopter sound of "woosh, woosh, woosh, woosh" as it flies up into this oak tree and gets stuck.

"Uh, Tommy, it didn't come down!”

We all wind up standing under this tree, trying to throw clubs up to hit Tommy's 6 iron and get it down.

Finally, I go, "Tommy, we're going to have to climb up there and get it.”

He's like, "Screw that, let's just go.”

Of course, ten minutes later, Tommy says, "Stop. Fuck. I gotta go back and get my club.” So he went back, monkeyed up this tree, and got his club.

He and Vince had something in common there. Who knew?

It’s weird, some of the shit that will happen on the golf course. Here’s a prime example of what I’m talking about.

At the time of the O.J. Simpson double-murder, I happened to be in Lake Havasu. I was up at the river, and heard on the news what had happened.

I had a great interest in that, because as a kid, I was a big fan of his. I always thought he was a really good guy; a superstar athlete; a really good example for the black community. The guy was really smart; a true businessman. So when he did that, I was stunned, and a little betrayed.

I followed that trial.

Well, let’s be honest, it’s not like you COULDN’T watch the damned thing. It was everywhere! It was a true example of the power of media, because that trial was held by the public. The whole world watched that thing, and made it’s own mind up.

Second of all, I knew that Tawny Kitaen had fooled around with him for a while. Robbin had told me stories of what that guy was like, and what a complete whack job he was. They had a few run-ins over the years, and Simpson was a scary dude. He would show up at the studio lot and spy her out when she was working on her television shows. Then O.J. would drag her off on a break and go bone her somewhere while she was working.

I’m not sure why Robbin felt I needed to know this, but he did. Kind of weird, really.

When the trial concluded, a couple of weeks or a month later, I was up at Los Verdes, my home track in Rancho Palos Verdes, for a round or two. I had just cleaned out my garage, and I had one of my kid’s old Halloween props; a machete, covered in fake blood!

So, reveling in my great and tasteful flare for comedy, I decided that this would be a great gag on the golf course! “The O.J. Club!” Everyone was talking about this guy, and I just couldn’t help myself. I’d tell stories to the guys on the course, setting them up. I’d generally do it when someone was playing a ball that was stuck in the trees or something.

I’d go, “Hey, did I ever tell you guys that I played a golf tournament with O.J.?”

They’d go, “No, way! Really? I never heard that!”

I’m like, “Yeah, it was a trip. He gave me this club. Said it was great for making a ‘low-cut shot out of the trees.’ You wanna use it? I’ve got it in my bag.”

They’d go, “No shit? Yeah, I’ll give it a shot!”

Then I’d take that fucking thing out of my bag, with blood all over it, and go hack-slashing though the brush. It always got a huge laugh! It was so damned funny.

So, here we are, maybe a month after the end of the trial, and we’re playing Los Verdes. We’re on Hole 4, when my buddy, Gary, who worked there, comes over to us.

We’re on the tee box, and he goes, “Dude, you are not going to fucking believe who in on the practice putting green.”