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Hackfest 2015: Maryland Is In the Big Ten?

Brian "Duke" Dukart feebly defended his Birdie King title in Maryland, USA.

Birdie King

Our gracious host, Jeffrey Dean Carter. Congrats, Jiffy-Pop!


This year's participants, in alphabetical order: Mike Allerding; Duane Anderson; Jeff Carter; Brian Dukart; Tim Hidani; James Hove; Brett Johnson; John Kast; James Kenealy; Chaz Larson; Roger Mahre; Gary Mullen-Schultz; Eric Petersen; David Read; Tom Sandberg; Mike Sauer; Trent Shipley.


Here are the results from the 2015 Hackfest.


Here are the rules used in the 2015 Hackfest.


The Baltimore bunker of Jeff and Kate Carter. Please contact Jeff for information on lodging, and/or bring a tent or get a hotel.

The Carter ranch is located here, at 16 Shady Ridge Court, Parkton, MD 21120. United States.

Golf Venues

Friday's pre-Fest rumble occurred at the 2015 Birdie King's own Bon Air Country Club at 2287 Club House Rd Glen Rock, PA 17327. The first group teed off at 12:30PM sharp. Directions from the Carter residence here.

Saturday's rounds took place at Pine Ridge Golf Course. The first group teed off at 9:15AM sharp. Directions from the Carter residence here.

Greystone Golf Course had the honor of hosting the final round of the 2015 Hackfest. The first group teed off at exactly 8:10AM. Directions from the Carter residence here.

And finally, directions from Greystone to the BWI airport are here.

Champion's Dinner

The Champion's Dinner for the 2015 Hackfest took place at Bar Louie, which is located at: 118 Shawan Road, Cockeysville, MD 21030. Directions from Jeff's house are here, and from Bon Air Country Club here. Directions from Bar Louie back to Jeff and Kate's are here.

Official Invitation from the Artistic Director


All Hail Brian Dukart, Birdie King and Very Handsome Man,

From the bowels of the Cray's liquid cooling, I bring you a newsless, nearly information-less message.

Many of us are old, the Cray is old, the rules have yet to be created. Honestly, the Cray has lost a step (or it could be me, sometimes I swear the vacuum tubes are talking). I'm not able to confirm whether the Cray remembers it is supposed to be creating the rules. I have Tom Sandberg (safely ensconced in his new Walter White bunker somewhere under a laundry facility in Santa Fe) reviewing arcane computer code in an attempt to fix the problem, or determine if there is a problem at all). It will happen, eventually. In the meantime, with only about 6 weeks to go before the Hackfest, you all should begin looking for your clubs. They should be around somewhere. If the wife sold them, reach out to other Festers, they can find you something.

The Hackfest is happening, it is in Maryland (Jeff says the Carter family has a lot of riot gear to lend, but some of you will need to supply your own), and it is the 12th and 13th of September. At this point, John, Tim, Eric, and Brett plan to be playing golf (in Maryland) on Friday the 11th as well in a traditional pre-fest battle Royale, and you are all invited to play Friday as well. We will hold a Champion's dinner that night in Duke's honor, whether he is there to honor or not. The Carters have lots of room so if you wanted to show up at their house in Maryland today to begin to get acclimated, that would be OK. As you should have seen in their earlier message, the Carters have also invited better-halves to come along and join Kate in some kind of Baltimore debauchery tour.

Prepare (no such thing as too much or too little preparation)! I plan to win this year, as I did last year and the year before, and Marie asks that you let me. Rules to follow . . . at some point.

Be well and may your increasing girth signal your increasing contentment.

Your humble Hackfest Artistic Director (and 2-time Champion)

Brett "Tator" Johnson
Artistic Director
Hackfest 2015

Follow Up Email from the Artistic Director

An explanation of rule tardiness, with apologies to Baltimore's favorite addict-poet, Edgar Allen Poe. What follows is true and sad and happens to me every night. Also, the rules are attached and on the web page. See you in September.

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a discarded rule, hip deep in too much Hackfest lore-
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my condo door.
"Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my condo door-
Only David and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember like a bleak Hackfest September;
As each of the Crays dying embers wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my records surcease of sorrow - sorrow for a lost par four -
For the rare and radiant birdie driving my Chicago score -
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken, sad, uncertain crackling of my back so hurting
Scared me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis just Duane or Sauer or Gary entreating entrance at my condo door -
A late moronic rule update entreating entrance at my condo door; -
This it is and nothing more."

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or golfer, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, until gently, asshole, you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my condo door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only words there spoken, the whispered words, "a lost par four"
I whispered, and an echo murmured back the words, "a lost par four" -
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what there at is, and this mystery explore -
Let these stupid rules still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, in my hand a threatening putter,
In there stepped a Blake-like Raven of the wasted days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of artist shady, perched above my condo door -
Perched upon a bust of Carter just above my condo door -
Perched, and shat, and nothing more.

Then this blonde/ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven," said I, "thou art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the vegetarian shore -
Tell me bout thy foolish business or face the Hackfest Nyborg, whore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no lucky human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing Blake above his condo door -
Bird or beast upon the Carter bust above his condo door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

But the Blake bird, sitting lonely on the flaccid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Better friends have flown before -
On the morrow Blake will leave me, as my birdie hopes have flown before."
Again the Blake said "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy Kenealy whom unmerciful Fest Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore -
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never - nevermore'."

But the Blake bird still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I sat a cushioned seat in front of Blake, and Carter bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to drinking
Wished Eric could lend a heater, thinking what this ominous Blake of yore -
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous Blake of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

Thus I sat engaged in guessing, but Trent-like no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
One-man ranging I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
Hove-esque on the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But with corpulent depression of rules half-done, gloating over,
Blake shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung perchance by Chaz whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy Duke hath lent thee - by angels he hath sent thee
Respite - respite and JK take me from thy memories, I cry fore!;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind Hidani and make me forget all lost par fours!"
Quoth the Blake bird "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil! -
Whether Allerding sent, or whether Roger tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted -
On this home by David haunted - tell me truly, I implore -
Is there - is there balm in the land of Mary? - tell me - tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the Raven "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil! - prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us - by that Sandidiot we both adore -
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant state,
It shall clasp a sainted birdie in its dreaded Chicago score -
Clasp a rare and radiant birdie while steeped in the golf of Baltimore?
Quoth the Blake bird "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, Blake or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and darken not my condo door!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken! - quit the Carter above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the Blake bird "Nevermore."

And the Blake bird, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the flaccid bust of Carter just above my condo door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted - nevermore!

Every night I deal with that.
And that's why the rules are late.
Let me know as soon as possible if you can't make it, please.

Post-Fest Note from the Artistic Director

All Hail Jeff Carter the 2015 Birdie King and only 5-time winner ever recorded!

Many thanks and some comments below, but first, please send any pictures you took to Gary (Hackfest Lore Master) so he can post them on the website. The final score sheet has either already been posted or soon will be. Thanks, G., for the tedious record-keeping work.

Gratitude to Jeff and Kate for hosting, at some cost to their plumbing and self esteem. We are glad to have been able to expose your children as liars and your sewage disposal systems as inadequate. The host facilities were, however, overall a cut above. High ratings for the agenda, sleep, and food, rated only "good" for weather. The golf courses were up to the challenge (everyone hated the back nine of Bon Air, the bird houses and starter-nazi at Pine Ridge, and the inability to score any Chicago points on the back nine at Greystone). In other words they were perfect. Labelled golf carts and beverage-filled coolers were above and beyond. Thanks again. We may ask to be invited back in 2043, the 56th year of the Fest.

Many thanks to all for making the long and perilous trip east. We all risked having our cars stolen (except Duke, since he drove a skateboard), our wallets liberated, and out bodies broken. Another test passed.

Congratulations to Eric Petersen, John Kast, and Jeff Carter for 27 years of play. They are currently Junior Legends, but with proper performance will be able to join the Legends Committee next year at the end of their probationary period (Jeff may have trouble with the required "best interests of the Hackfest" clause, but we'll see).

Congratulations to Duke for wearing the Birdie King mantle with the dignity and aplomb that befits the office. We all appreciated the beverage holders and the dribble of a drive that ended your reign.

Who can forget Duane's sand shot on the 36th hole . . . and the fact that he ran away before paying Carter $15 for his 16th-place finish.

Only two players, Jeff Carter and Jim Kenealy bested their Chicago scores, although Allerding, Mahre, and Hidani made respectable showings. The rest of you were an embarrassment (I don't include myself so as not to sully the office of AD).

Chuck bloodied his knee, which went viral on the web before completion of the next hole, and kept up our social media presence. He also bought the domain Jeff, have your people contact his people.

If Hidani and Carter switched groups for holes 19-27, Tim would be a 3 time winner (if Eric liked Muskie or his in-laws any less, he would already be a legend; if Roger had not already suffered a heart attack and stroke he would be Trump's running mate; If Hove didn't have such a big brain, his body would be proportionally correct and the final chapter of his book on golf would not be titled "Better Luck Next Time"). Find a quiet place to cry about it, we don't care.

Until next year, I remain, your humble, although astonishingly good looking, Artistic Director

Brett R. Johnson
Artistic Director
Hackfest 2015