The Boquete Quadrangle

Boquetanos, in an effort to keep their flourishing economy in high gear have become increasingly more closed mouthed about a mystery that rivals those of Loch Ness, Bermuda and the Himalayan Yeti. Their silence about the subject is understandable when you consider the tremendous sums of money being generated by the town's rapid growth and its benefit to the population at large. Fear that word of their "problem" will spread to the outside world and slow the money stream has made an entire community mute. There are, however, a few of us who feel that it is time the truth were out and that serious investigatory agencies be advised and brought to the task of solving the riddle that is known here simply as...The Boquete Quadrangle. From you, the readers of our disclosure, we ask only that our names be kept the closest of secrets. Because, with so much money involved - and here I speak not only of development revenues but of the lost out-of-pocket dollars to those foolish enough to wander into the Quadrangle itself - our very lives could be in danger. It must never be known that we four are the whistle blowers.

There is an area hidden in a valley on the southwestern side of town that is roughly quadrangular in configuration. We, WWC, RTR, LJ and myself had wandered there on many an occassion as had a small coterie of other golfers after the course's opening some four and a bit years ago. At day's end we had occassionally mentioned that our supply of Titleists, Top Flites, Pinnacles and such had been somewhat diminished, but we thought little of it. We chalked up their disappearance to what we laughingly called "bad shots." Bad shots, as any golfer will tell you, are rarely remembered. Good shots, on the other hand, cling to the brain cells and are available to talk about ad neauseum post round. As the bad shots were forgotten, so too were the lost golf balls.

Until yesterday. Yesterday the mystery was unveiled and made crystal clear. For those of you who have never played the game let me point out that it is not uncommon for bad shots to penalize a golfer with an additional stroke on his scorecard. It is far less common for his ball to actually disappear as a result of the shot. Not so yesterday. As we four watched in amazement, ball after ball was drawn to the left or right by mysterious forces and dropped into lake, stream or jungle never to be seen again. LJ would tee up and find himself possessed of demons demanding duck hooks and RTR's topped shot would see his ball sink into quick-mud not fifteen feet from where he stood. WWC's wild John Daly back swing sent balls disappearing into pond and puddles placed like trolls to lure the dimpled innocents to their final rest. The worst though, may have been the swing this reporter took on the seventh hole that resulted in a ball flying so far into the jungle that trying to find it would, by comparison, make that needle in a haystack thing look like a piece of cake. Further, the evil force possessing us all, but which on that particular swing grabbed me alone like Megan in "The Exorcist" and had me swing so hard that I was left lying on the ground clutching a couple of balls that were not engraved with any company's logo. I don't have the medical term to pass along to you for clarification, but I suppose "groin pull" is descriptive enough.

Abnormal occurrences were clearly happening on the course. Golf balls were disappearing at a ridiculously unprecedented rate. I'll grant you that we hadn't played for some time, but we all swore we couldn't be THIS bad. Invisible and clearly evil forces were at work and they had become increasingly malevolent during the five months we had been absent from the course.

And so in summation I say, beware beware, you that venture there. The Boquete Quadrangle grows stronger each day and must be fed. For the brave and the undaunted I have but this small bit of advice: Bring forth your rangeballs, your cuts, your bruised and damaged. Bring forth your aged and your brand x. But never I say, never, open a sleeve of new. The Quadrangle likes them best.