Che vs. Fidel: A
Mulligan for the Maximum Leader
by Con Chapman
After Che Guevara beat him at
golf, Fidel Castro, a notoriously sore loser,
converted a golf course into an art school and
ordered a sports reporter fired.
The Wall Street Journal
HUMBERTO
GONZALEZ: It’s the final round of the
Guiteres Sugar Championship and Juan, you could
cut the tension with a machete.
JUAN
MACHADO: You can cut anything with a machete—that’s
how they chop sugar cane at Guiteres Sugar.
Guiteres—the sugar for you!
HUMBERTO:
We don’t do commercials. We’re
Communists.
JUAN:
Oh.
HUMBERTO:
As Maximum Leader Fidel Castro and long-time comandante
Ernesto “Che” Guevera approach the
18th tee they’re tied, but
Glorious Leader Castro has struggled.
JUAN:
He’s blasted his way out of sand traps with
his revolutionary innovation in club design, the
“hand wedge.”
HUMBERTO:
When he hit into the water on 16 he was so mad he
gave a three-hour speech blaming U.S. imperialism
for his hook.
JUAN:
I’d love to be a frog to hear what these two
say to each other . . .
HUMBERTO:
We can do that--the CIA’s been listening to
them for years. Let’s go to the tee.
CHE:
You want to make this interesting?
FIDEL:
Can the Comandante en Jefe hit without a
lot of stupid chatter?
CHE:
I was thinking “Bingo Bango Bongo.”
FIDEL:
What’s that?
CHE:
First on the green is “bingo,” closest
to the hole is “bango,” and first to
hole out is “bongo.” It gives a weaker
player like you a chance to make some money.
FIDEL:
I am not a weaker player! I am El
Caballo—“The Horse.”
CHE:
Even horses get the yips.
FIDEL:
Silence!
CHE:
(Mutters) I never should have agreed to a crummy
five peso Nassau.
FIDEL:
Talk is cheap, my friend.
CHE:
While we’re young . . .
(audible
groan)
FIDEL:
Dammit!
CHE:
Pleasure doing business with you.
(sound
of worthless Cuban pesos changing hands)
CHE:
Can I buy you a drink? It’s the least I
could do.
FIDEL:
Where?
CHE:
Here—at the clubhouse.
FIDEL:
There is no clubhouse. I hereby declare The
Course at the Links at the Woods . . .
CHE:
Why do golf courses have such stupid names?
FIDEL:
It is a relic of the Baptista regime. Out with
the fancy golf course, in with the Academia
Socialista de las Artes
CHE:
An art school?
FIDEL:
I am tired of drawing on my TV screen with Mr.
Learn-to-Draw, Jon Gnagy.
CHE:
How about a cigar?
FIDEL:
What I could really go for is . . .
CHE:
Yes?
FIDEL:
Throwing a couple of poets into jail.
CHE:
Regular or symbolist?
FIDEL:
I’m thinking a nice, fruity neo-Formalist.
CHE:
They’re all in prison. You could fire a
sports reporter.
FIDEL:
That’s the ticket!
CHE:
How about one of those guys?
FIDEL:
Only one?
CHE:
If you fire two, PEN International will be all
over you like mole sauce on a tamale.
FIDEL:
All right—which one?
CHE:
I say the one with the double-knit plaid blazer.
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