Getting that one cart turned the correct direction, amid the curses, shouts, and general insults hurled at the offending driver and his hapless passenger, as one cart piles on top of the next, would vex General Patton. With 150 grocery salesmen and 150 customers and 150 cell phones finally spread out over 18 holes, play, in a manner of speaking, begins. In theory, a scramble should move rapidly. A team of four will play only the best ball hit. Nobody has to play balls out of the woods or spend extended periods of time thrashing about in poison ivy, searching for balls lost in a canyon 500 feet below.
Someone always has a ball in the fairway.
Piece of cake. But as in science, there's a significant gap between the theoretical and the real. First, every shot, no matter how elementary, is analyzed and dissected as if the team were playing on the final Sunday, in the final group of the British Open. Complete novices weigh in on breaks of putts and the wisdom of hitting a ball 30 yards out with a poor lie over a sand trap as opposed to taking a ball 100 yards out but dead in the middle of the fairway. Six-hour rounds are common.