Disclaimer: None of the pictures posted in this article correlate to anything actually being discussed. Unfortunately I didn't have a camera with me. They are past pictures I've taken out on golf courses through my life, purely there to break up the seemingly endless verbiage.
Today was a good day... Well, technically I'm talking about this past Saturday, but that wouldn't provide the entry into this installment I was shooting for. Sometimes one needs to take artistic license in order to convey the desired sentiment. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" has a certain ring that "Things were pretty good, but also pretty bad" lacks. We can't really assume that things had never been better or worse, we go with the flow. I'm not trying to be so bold as to compare "Not Too Bad..." with the work of Dickens, just trying to explain why I launched this story with a flat out lie. Now that my conscience is placated let me start over.
Today was a good day. It actually started on Thursday when I called someone I know through work and asked if they wanted to get together for a round of golf. While that action may seem innocuous enough to the average citizen, in my world the event marks a bold exploration into a brave new world. I've never been skydiving but I could assume feeling the same degree of trepidation between making that phone call and flinging myself out of a plane. That comparison might seem a bit dramatic at first glance. My rational mind would tend to agree with that sentiment, but I've become accustomed to reserving my rational mind for reviewing past experiences (although this is a new found ability). As of this writing I'm still most comfortable allowing my irrational mind and fears rule my current actions. I really don't wish to belabor this point, but I feel I must accurately portray it's importance in order to convey to magnitude of this accomplishment. After making the phone call, I wiped the perspiration from my hands and called Linda at work to tell her what I had done. Her response? "I am so proud of you." It only took 13 years residing in this area, but I had finally initiated contact with someone for a purely social activity. This wasn't a safe mutual friend that I knew from my proximity to Linda. I wasn't tandem skydiving anymore, this was a solo jump.
After a quick inventory of my extremities provided conformation that I hadn't been sucked into the engine and avoided any other potential hazards, I went back to work feeling much satisfaction from my achievement. On Friday night I cleaned my clubs, made sure my
Skycaddie was charged, and organized my golf bag. Everything was set in preparation of the big day. Hmm, on second thought, I haven't played but twice since Thanksgiving... better add a couple more balls into the bag.
(I wouldn't survive embarrassment of running out of golf balls. I'm not sure insurance pays coverage for "Death by Embarrassment"; I couldn't risk leaving Linda a true golf widow.) There, now everything was ready.
Saturday morning, the weather is a nice as could be. Temperature is supposed to reach 78, and it's that nice winter weather without the humidity. Days like today are what earn Florida the moniker "The Sunshine State". Reminds me of a nice early summer day in Minnesota growing up. After the cold weather we've been having lately, it's a special treat. I arrive at the Ironwood (municipal course here in town) parking lot around 10:30, a full hour before our 11:30 tee time. I want to have some time to warm up, chip and putt for a little bit. There will be no hurriedly tying of golf shoes on the first tee today. No trying to squeeze in a few practice swings on the first tee in a feeble attempt to limber up.
I had called Jason, whom I know through his work with one of my clients, when I left the house to let him know I was headed to the course. I think he shared my excited anticipation for our outing, having not played since falling off a roof and breaking his leg over a year ago. So I wasn't surprised to see him in the parking lot as I drove up. I was surprised to see he had someone with him... What was that!?
A bit of turbulence buffets my body, momentarily knocking me off course. I quickly adjust to steady my decent. I recover smoothly... I've been golfing all of my conscious life, and we're in my comfort zone right now. He introduces his friend as Mike he seems like a nice enough guy. Someone I would have described as an older gentleman if I were living this day 10 years ago. Now, being 40 myself, I'm not so quick to utilize the word older. I'd peg him somewhere closer my senior then Jason is my junior.
Jason and I had talked a little about golf during our meetings over the years I've known him. He had yet to break 90 in his golfing career and was already apologizing for how poorly he may play. I assured him this day was 100% about enjoyment; score be damned. Little did he know (nor many high handicappers for that matter) that even though I have broken 70 in my career, that I share the same nerves as him. There is always pressure to perform up to your ability. Especially if you are overly concerned about others perceptions. Some might say irrationally concerned. I can never forget how much pressure I put on myself when playing with Dad, even during the periods of my best play. He always thought I was playing well. I would be shooting around par, but I could never put a full round together when playing along side him. He knew what I was capable of as we always discussed our golf outings on the phone. His saying always used to be "Don't tell me, show me." I never was able to show him a round in the 60's but I did make him drop his jaw a few times and that was always a sense of pride and accomplishment. The days of shooting in the 60's are long gone. These days 75 is my new 70 and over the past 6 months that number has probably crept up to 80. The biggest competition in golf is with yourself anyway, and today I was determined to give myself a free pass.
Jason and Mike load up in one cart, I grab another. This is great as I still get some alone time while enjoying the company. We head off to the driving range to loosen up. I don't hit the ball well... actually, to be candid, I hit it down right poor. I'm fighting with a bad case of the Hooks, that's like trying to fight off a bad cold. After working through a few balls, I think to myself; "I'll be able to get around the course today, but there is no way I'm flirting with Par. She's way out of my league on this afternoon.". After our warm up and final putting practice, we head to one of the most feared places on a golf course, the 1st Tee. I would say most feared, but one must take into consideration such other fearsome opponents such as; the three-foot putt for the win, or tee to green carry over water before making an such an absolute statement.
Our tee time finally arrived and we were "on the tee". Those that have played golf know that being on the 1st Tee can be akin to being on stage before a crowd of people. Especially on a day like today when the tee times are booked solid and the next two foresomes are already congregating at the tee, awaiting their tee time. It's quite ironic that one such as myself who dreads being the center of attention chose golf as a source for enjoyment. A sport where it's participant is automatically the center of attention, to the point where everyone hushes to a quiet to watch you. There is this technique people always talk about when talking to a large group. Imagine your audience in their underwear. Since in golf you're not looking at your audience, (if you are, well... you may not be quite ready for the course) unfortunately it's much easier to start imagining yourself being the one donning underwear. When my turn comes, I put a tee in the ground and upon which I steadily place the ball. I stand behind the ball and try to visualize its flight. Nothing fancy, I just want to make solid contact. I shakily put a drive down the right side of the fairway. It has a little fade and I was playing for a little draw. The Starter makes the comment "If only we could always hit them like that huh." As if in a knee jerk reaction, I start to say how it isn't exactly what I wanted but... then I stop myself and accept the compliment in the manner it was probably given. I'll be able to clear the water hazard on my second shot, then a pitch and putt for a reasonable birdie chance on the first hole. All goes as planned except I barely missed the birdie putt. Tap in par... life is good.
Ten minutes later I find myself standing under a tree self-administering a mental attitude adjustment. I had skied a 3-wood to the right playing safe on this short par 4. My second was a slightly thinned 8 iron that been snared by the tree I had attempted to clear. After a pulled wedge approach, I made a nice 2-putt to salvage a bogey. We'll, at least I don't have to worry about protecting a mistake free round. This same type of performance follows me for the next 2 hours. A few good shots sprinkled between a few too many bad shots, producing only one more real quality birdie chance, which I missed. I seem to have developed major difficulty hitting the green with my wedges. Something that hadn't been a problem for me in recent memory. I ended up with a 40 on the front 9. 75 was now pretty much out knocked out of the equation. Of course at first mention of 40, just as I started to feel a twinge of disappointment, Mike makes the comment of "Damn, I'd be ecstatic with a 40 on any 9." I remind myself that my bad is really not too bad...
One good thing about golf is the number of fresh starts you are allowed, provided you take advantage. Many people use the start of the back 9 as a clean slate. A chance to redeem yourself from any missteps taken earlier. Some take it a step farther and use each hole as a fresh start. Others, usually the best players, see each shot as a fresh start. A chance to execute the perfect shot. Today I'm in more of the back 9 mode.
The second 9 starts with a ridiculously short par-3. Following the trend I had started to establish during the previous 9 holes I miss the green with my wedge and fail to convert an up and down. (1 chip, 1 put par). Looks like more of the same, that opening bogey throwing a soggy blanket on my fresh start. The next 3 holes followed the same trend. Decent drives, 3 terrible approach shots either leaving a very long birdie putt or failed up and down attempt.
Then comes the next par three; number 14.
I'm already 3 over after 4 holes on the back 9. I haven't hit a decent iron shot in well, pretty much all day. Overall I'm still impressed with my demeanor. I'm still having a great time and not obsessing on my score, but my frustration has been building. Evil thoughts have started to taint my overall optimism. I stand on the tee box and access the situation. There is water short, left, and behind the green, with a sand bunker on the front left as well. Did I mention I was fighting a case of the
Hooks? A quick glance at the Skycaddie tells me it's 144 yards to clear the bunker and the pin is probably another 10 yards beyond that. My first objective, after making sure I won't need snorkel gear to play my second shot, is to clear the beach and reach the putting surface. We have a bit of helping wind, and long is not an option, so I choose an 8-iron. I try to focus on my objective just as someone shooting a free throw focuses on the rim. Deep in my semi-conscious mind an evil foe is engaging in a life or death battle with my sense of optimism. When I say evil, I'm not talking about a troublesome imp or malignant scamp. I'm talking more in the range of Tolkien's towering
Balrog. I stand firm and feel as if I put a good swing on the ball. Unfortunately, today the feel of my swing has little correlation with results after real world physics are applied. I was concentrating on my shot so I didn't actually hear it, but I just
know that the Balrog was roaring "Don't HOOK IT!!!" during my back swing. I managed to hold off hooking it into the water, but I didn't hit the shot very solid either, a gust of wind would have probably saved the day, but it didn't arrive on time. Pack the car kids, we're headed to the beach! Probably with a little more frustration then today's quota technically was supposed to allow I fail to realize the quality of sand in the bunker, or in this case, the lack thereof. My attempt at an explosion shot is foiled by a rock hard "bunker", I watch as my ball completely flies the green. All of a sudden my probable bogey has turned into a possible double bogey. After a bad chip the possible becomes the new probable. A missed putt confirms that probability. I've just suffered my first double bogey of the day. Not only that, it was one of those double bogeys that really stick in your craw. It had taken me 4 shots to get down from the 5 yards off the green. I usually avoid the double or at least have more birdies then doubles. Today it's birdies 0 - doubles 1. Shake it off... I hook my drive 15, then have to yell "Fore!!" on my approach shot, as it soars toward the occupied 16th tee box. Sheepishly I arrive at my ball just as the people ahead of me are finishing teeing off. I sit there and stare at my ball sitting right smack dab in the middle of the 16th tee, about 5 feet in front of where the they are hitting from. They don't make a big deal about it, they were probably just happy someone yelled "Fore". Many people nowadays don't provide that courtesy. After what can only be described as a blur of short game under-performance, I add up the damage. Another double-bogey. I have gone months avoiding the doubles, now I've had them back to back for the first time in, well... hell, I don't know how long, but it's been a long time. The score has gone beyond immaterial now, now it's all about pride. I step up on 16th, a hard dog-leg left. On a good day I would be cutting the corner to leave only a short pitch for my approach. On a great day I'd be hoping for an eagle putt. This was quickly becoming neither. The Balrog had broken through my defenses and was engaged in full frontal assault of my conscious mind. My one and only goal was now to not yank it into the woods. Funny thing about setting your expectations so low, your much more apt to fulfill them. I actually overcompensate and slice the ball down the right side. Well, I've been over there before.. possibly will be some tree trouble and a good 140 yards to the green. Jason and Mike have been battling slices all day, so in somewhat of an anomaly we all head toward the same location to seek out our golf balls in the rough.
Then we see it. I was so wrapped up in my golf game it came as something of a shock. It seemed so out of place, yet at the same time it seemed so perfectly placed. There, not more then a mere 15 yards away, was a solid 6 foot alligator sunning itself on the bank of the water hazard. It brought me back to reality real quick. Not in a fearful way, but more of a "That's pretty cool" way. I had been so wrapped up in my crumbling golf game that I had lost focus on where I was. It was a beautiful Saturday after noon in the middle of winter. Bluebird sunny skies and near 80 degrees of low humidity goodness. Spending my afternoon on the golf course. All things considered, that's not too bad. I cursed my lack of foresight in forgetting to put some sort of video or photographic device in my golf bag, gave the alligator a few more moments attention then went off to my ball with a much calmer sense of being. I was right about the tree trouble and executed a fairly decent approach shot having to slice the ball around the tree. I left myself a pretty easy chip and a good chance for an up and down par. After hitting my chip way too hard (need to remember to focus on the landing spot not the pin) that chance at a par quickly became another possible bogey. When taking a practice stroke for my long par putt, I accidentally struck my ball, moving it all of 5 feet and 45 degrees off my intended direction. Just like that I had put up my 3rd double bogey in a row. This was becoming uncharted territory.
I make my way to the 17th hole, a long dog-leg left par 5 that narrows down into high pines for the second and third shots. As we arrive at the tee box just as the course ranger pulls up in his cart. We tell him about the gator hanging out on 16 as we wait for the people ahead of us to clear. He hangs around to watch us tee off as he's headed toward the clubhouse and doesn't want make us wait as he drives down 17. I pull out my 3-wood as this hole is all about position, position, position. I proceed to hit a shot that may have unknowingly caused the death of any worms unlucky enough in my vicinity. Straight into the ditch. Then I hear the ultimate sign of empathy from your fellow golfer "Why don't you take a mulligan". I take the walk of shame back to my bag to grab another ball. My second attempt at least gets airborne, but it has a hard hook on it. It's fairly obvious it will probably be a lost ball, but at this point I'm afraid to look down, not for fear that I'm standing there in my boxers, but fear that I had forgotten to even put them on. I head back to my cart knowing that I'll be dropping yet another ball farther up the fairway after I fail to find that drive. Jason and Mike proceed to hit their usual slices down the right side and I head to my own personal hell down the left side. At this point, thankfully the ranger decides he's headed off to the clubhouse. As expected I don't find my ball, drop another one, and try to muster every positive emotion I can. I take a swing trying to hit a 5-iron lay up down the tight fairway lined by tall pines. Again, I hook it into the woods, I repeat the process looking futilely for my ball then dropping out another one. Good thing I added some extra balls to my bag, at this rate I may need them. Now I have 8-iron approach into the green. I'll give you two guesses as to what happened next, No... an alligator didn't come out of the woods with my ball his mouth. Yes, I hook my approach shot left of the green. At least this one isn't lost. I head up to the green and discover my ball laying precariously close to the base of a tree.
All of a sudden I realize my chute hasn't opened... this solo jump has spun out of control. The ground is speeding toward me at an astonishingly rapid pace and my game has completely abandoned my side. The Balrog has me firmly about the neck, choking the last bit of fight from my body. It really isn't as bad as I had expected. I think I expected shooting pains or bolts of lighting. Really it was more a feeling of just stopping the fight and accepting the results.
I put my full focus on the task at hand, an awkward chip with a tree to hinder my stance and back swing. I envision the shot I want to make, take a couple of practice strokes getting the feel to match that vision. I execute the shot and actually start to feel good about myself again. I sense a flicker of light in my will to survive. I remember my reserve shoot. There's one last chance. I try to gather my senses for the 18th Hole, a par 4 slight dog-left left. I pull out my driver and stand on the tee, trying to paint a mental picture of the shot I desire. I address the ball, take one more look down the fairway, visualizing my intended ball flight. I take a controlled yet purposeful swing, and I pure it. The ball flies out down the left edge of the fairway with a slight draw. Jason and Mike both respond with a "Nice shot!" and they really mean it. Mike adds "That thing ticked the edges of the corner pine tree, probably would have gone even 10-15 yards farther." I look up just in time to see the rushing wind catch hold of the reserve shoot. It opens in all it's spectacular glory. I arrive to my ball which sits in the middle of the fairway just beyond the corner. I only have about 40 yards remaining for my approach. I strike a pretty nice little sand wedge into the green, definitely my best of the day, leaving me about an 8 foot birdie putt. By far my best opportunity since the 1st hole. I study the break and putt a good roll on the ball, it just burns the edge of the cup stopping about 4 inches beyond the hole. From behind me I hear, "You were robbed." Suddenly my drastic string of double bogeys and complete disaster on the 17th were all but forgotten.
No one cared about the scores, we headed to our vehicles. We never actually added up our scores, so I'm not sure what Jason or Mike shot. I added mine up later that night at home. (You can view it from a later link if you wish, I was unable to take more then a 7 on 17 as my current handicap of 5 allows me to count nothing more then a double bogey) They headed off with smiles on faces. Jason anxiously talked about getting together to do this again. They both seemed oblivious to the fact that I had flirted so closely with death out on that golf course. And that's a good thing.
I called Linda to let her know I was done and she mentioned that she was heading over to Carol's to go on a walk. Well, since I'm here... I asked if she would mind if I stayed and practiced for a little bit. Of course not, she is always encouraging me to get out more.
After grabbing a couple of my remaining golf balls, a wedge, 9-iron and putter, I head back toward the practice green. About 30 minutes later father and son showed up. The son with his clubs and a putter, the father with a putter. They played chipping and putting games, some of them I remember playing with my Dad. It brought back a lot of memories, leaving me to wonder if Taylor will enjoy playing such games when she reaches that age. I can only hope. As the sun began to set I headed back to the truck and set off for home.
Today was a good day.
