High top converse with tall white socks, no shirt, no pants, no underwear; I make my way to the tee box. The tall surrounding grass tickles up and down my legs.  I tee up and square up, pause for a moment and let the cool night consume my naked being, then swing and break the stillness. TING. A night bell rings out as I make contact with the Titleist #2. Crickets pause for a moment and observe the majestic flight of the white orb, then resume their sonnet.

“Come on, Jacobson, hurry up. It’s my turn.”
“Hold on, just a second… Slug! Did you hear where it landed?” I shout down the fairway.
“I think so…” comes the faint reply from the darkness in front of me.
On the crest of the hill I can see Slug’s white posterior, which is the only part of him truly visible in the blackness. I step off the tee box, hand my club to Steve and walk towards Slug. Behind me I can hear the other guys teeing up and preparing to hit, naked, all of them. I grab an iron from the bag and walk on.
“Nice drive,” Slug salutates me, as I get closer. “I think it went that way.” He points with his left arm, and with his right he simultaneously scratches his slightly protrusive belly.
“Thanks,” I walk past him. “You look nice by the way,” I say without turning around. “The moonlight makes your a** look big.” I hear him laugh as I walk on. I hear a thud to my left and think that it must be Steve’s ball. I find my own golf ball nestled down in the shaved fairway, and I swing again, trying to corral the Titleist into the little green area in front of me. We’ve done some pretty dumb things in the past, but to be completely honest I don’t think this is one of them. Naked golf just feels right; we took a gentleman’s sport and made it our own. We pulled back all the layers of finery that surrounded it and left it standing there in the moonlight without a cigar. And by doing so we also reinvented ourselves, we become satirical symbols, behaving as the upper class may, saying the words and thinking the thoughts they might, just sans the clothing.
We all meet again on the green, seven pale bodies.
“So how do we want to do this…?” Steve inquires.
“You only brought one putter?” Slug observes.
“Well yeah, I didn’t really think we’d actually all make it onto the green.”
“Well… maybe we should use our own personal putters,” intonates Slug.
Laughter ripples through the group as we grasp the concept; there is no more shyness to be found in this group, we have far surpassed shame and social norms.
“Well, here goes nothing.” I get to my knees and feel the slightly dewy grass on my leg hair, it’s cold, but I refuse to let that prevent my putting. As I prepare my stroke and mentally brace myself I glance up and see all the others doing the same. I push my left arm into the grass and strike a modified pushup position, and then take my stroke, but in the middle of my backswing a siren blares. WOPWOP. I’m up and running before I know what is happening.
“It’s campus security!” Yells Slug as he jiggles and runs beside me.
“Run!” Steve is already way ahead of us. The campus officers begin their pursuit in low powered golf carts, delivering unintelligible warnings through megaphones. We hear their small engines gaining on us so we turn into the long grass to attempt evasion, swinging our arms and whooping like crazy. Far ahead of us, Steve sprints through the night. I watch, fascinated as he animatedly careens toward some destination of safety. But suddenly he bounces. I don’t mean he stops running, I mean he literally just stops moving forward. Steve hit a chain link fence. His arms are still swinging, but suddenly his momentum has shifted 180 degrees and he collapses into the tall grass in a puddle of arms and legs and nakedness. The rest of us run past where he fell and make sure to avoid the fence that laid out Steve. As we pass I hear a small moan from the direction of Steve’s crumpled figure. Luckily for him the campus security officers continue to pursue us and don’t seem to notice the fallen streaker.
Slug isn’t a big guy, but he still moves a lot faster then I would’ve guessed he was capable of. The campus security continues to gain on us and I make a snap decision. I signal to Slug to break left and I point to a tree, he nods between paces. We sprint to the left in a mad dash of effort and adrenaline, leaving the rest of the guys behind by a good twenty paces. Like a naked, slightly-less-hairy bear, Slug shimmies up the tree in no time, and I follow, but it is too late for the rest of our brethren. Campus security has them surrounded in two golf carts, armed with flashlights and megaphones; an awkward silence begins as the officers try to evaluate the situation. Slug and I quietly climb up the tree, hoping that the officers directly below us don’t look up and decide to pursue us as well. Our friends stand in a line, arms by their side, breathing heavily from the chase. The security members begin to whisper among themselves. I try to listen in on what they are saying, but I hear the sound of water beginning to drip instead.
“Slug, are you really peeing?” I whisper spit.
“Sorry Mike, I really had to go.”
“But right now! You couldn’t hold it?”
Finally the water stops, and I’m sure the campus security has heard us, but when I look down they are still whispering and conferring among themselves. Finally, the biggest of them steps forward, baring a menacing handlebar mustache, he waddles a few paces in front of the rest of the officers.
“You boys are out past campus curfew. You better get on back to your dorms now, you hear?”
Our friends are shocked; they look amongst themselves and nod.
“Yes officer, right away.”
“Now where are your clothes?”  The mustache trembles.
“Over by the first tee box sir.”
“Go run along and get your belongings, we don’t want to have to escort you.”
And just like that, they eagerly scamper off. The security members get back into their golf carts, chuckle to themselves, and drive off. Slug and I wait until their headlights drift over the edge of the hill and then climb down. We make our way back to where Steve fell and find him still in a daze.
“Did we win?” Steve asks nonchalantly.
“Yes, Steve, we won.” I smile and help him out of the grass, and together the three of us walk back to the first tee box, as naked as can be.
It was the greatest game of golf never finished.