Talking Head

Yo! Down here. Yeah, in the grass. The round plastic thing. Jeez, watch it. You stepped on me and didn’t even look first. It’s like you were trying to scratch me with those spikes. Oh, OK, they’re rubber nubs. They still hurt. The second you turn around, I’m hosing your ass.

See me? ‘Cuz I’m talking to you, and I’ve got some things to say about sitting here for 35 years spraying water. You know what? I’m tired.

Tired of being in the ground, tired of these long winters. I want to go south, get outta here, no more frost and snow. Jersey winters are the worst. And it doesn’t make it any better if you’re not going to take care of me.

No, nobody died and made me king, but on behalf of every irrigation system on every golf course everywhere, someone’s got to speak up. And I’m from Jersey, y’know, Springsteen country. And yeah, I’m born to run, too. But if you don’t take care of me and the other old sprinkler heads, we’re not going to run at all. And it’s gonna be your head on the chopping block, buddy. Not mine.

So let’s talk about water. And moving it around a golf course. Not even on the course, under it. In the ground, all this time, cold and wet and bugs and dirt. It’s a hard life. I’m no different from you. I’ve got a heart, a circulation system, and my joints need to be lubricated on occasion. And if one of my bones breaks, it doesn’t heal. Someone has to dig me up and replace it.

Blowing out my system every fall takes its toll. Firing me up every spring is no piece of cake, either. You know what they say after you turn 50, but in my case it’s after 30. If you think you can get an old system to run like some young kid, you’re wrong. I’ve been slowing down for a few years already, and the components don’t work like they used to. So if you want to keep me going, here’s what you gotta do.

I know money isn’t easy to come by at clubs these days. I spray water, but I’m not wet behind the ears: We’re talking golf clubs, not the Bada Bing. I get it. Budgets are tight so finding a replacement for me is an uphill battle. Replacing me and the whole system is a multi-million-dollar job, and even though we all know it’s a good idea, it’s probably not going to happen; unless you’re in the waste management business. So you should be treating me better. With respect.

Start with my diet. Eat too much pasta and it’ll clog your arteries. Same with me: If the quality of the water running through me isn’t good, it’ll screw up my valves, nozzles and gear drives. The better the water, the cleaner the arteries.

We Jersey guys have got a big heart. Mine’s the pump station, and it needs some TLC to run efficiently. The older I get, the more you have to check it. All those changes in the weather, the heat and cold, they take their toll on my ticker now that I’ve matured. Remember, when my pump is running efficiently, your costs go down. Fewer repairs, less labor, not as many service calls.

You better keep my circulatory system clean. I need screens on my system intake. Muscles and clams belong on linguini, not in my pipes.

Something else about getting old. Listen to the doctor. You go to the urologist to keep your system from leaking. My guy, Dr. Mike Huck, says exercise in moderation is a good idea. Exercise my valves, open them, shut them, open them, shut them. You can’t leave them open for 20 straight years or my threads will corrode. You want to see stiffness and irrigation arthritis? Old bones need lubrication.

When I went in the ground back in the ’70s, not many clubs had weather stations. Now they’re everywhere, which is good. But that doesn’t mean they’re always right. If they aren’t temperature correct, they go off too frequently or not enough. Most of the modern stations are run by small solar panels, so keep them clean.

At my age, I can’t turn it on at moment’s notice … and I don’t need to wake up every hour just to irrigate. Ya know what I’m sayin’? This ain’t a Viagra commercial.

Speaking of flow, if you really want to disrupt mine, put a head in the ground so it isn’t level. Or forget to keep me clean, jammed with grass clippings. It’s not too good for the nozzles, gear drives, and internal workings, either. I have to work harder if you and your crew don’t work on me. Don’t leave it to chance that I’m gonna be alright. I won’t. Trust me.

And make sure the irrigation tech has the latest equipment, not an old rusty shovel. Puh-leeze.

With us irrigation systems, 30 is the new 60. We’re aging faster than you think, which means I’m getting real close to retirement. So protect me before I head south. By which I mean dead. Buried. Kicking up fescues instead of watering them.

Be nice to me and I’ll be nice to you. Get me? You better…