In years past “Sand Bagging” has had many meanings. It’s meaning spans from machines that process and ready a product for resale to names used to justify getting one’s backside handed to himself. Even in the Gentleman’s game of Golf, such terms of endearment exist. A couple of weekends ago, I myself was assaulted with this term… “Sand Bagger”! Was I being pushed into volunteer work for our armed services with out my knowledge? No friends, I was being accused, my name strewn through the preverbal mud of competition as a “Sand Bagger” I was beside my self. I was speechless (yes even I) at the mere allegation.
It drove me to a deep and yet endless journey of one’s self. Could I really be what they say, a “Sand Bagger”? Nah, nah I say! This accusation made by one of the game’s legends (Duckgumlicker) drove a nail into my heart. I here by report that I, Chicken George, from this moment forward, cast this dreaded name to the ground. No longer will I plan to show up to all the competitions and “Win it all” as I have in years past. You know, you’ve been there bored by me coming up to accept all the “booty”. I will sit idly by and accept my 10 min deer skinner and knife sharpeners with pride.
All the above to brag that Sunday I shoot my first AAA score, shooting a 28 in hunter. Some sand bagger beat me out of match winner shooting a 31 thoughÂ…