The Summer of George! And Golf.

Disclaimer: The following is about golf.

If I’ve learned anything from regaling tales from the golf course, is that it’s similar to showing off pictures of your cat: few people care and even fewer can feign interest (and no, your cat’s not different). If you find yourself in that latter group, that’s ok. My ego can handle it.

This past summer I played more golf since perhaps the summer of 1987. Yes I am that old and fuck you for mentally asking.

The blame for this addiction can be spread almost equally among my uncle (for gifting my clubs), the wife (for gifting me a new driver) and Nintendo (for developing PGA 202k on The Switch).

From both the bottom of my wallet and the more-than-I-care-to-admit-to excessive heart rate alerts from Garmin, thank you.

Ask the wife how much I golf, she’ll likely roll her eyes and say “a lot”. Ask me and the answer is “not enough”. If my lower back could talk, he’d simply whisper “you’re an asshole”.

Still, I learned a lot this year. Though with the aforementioned advanced age, I think it best to write these lessons down so I won’t forget and so that others may learn.

Very few people will have the BEST game, match, score, round, set, shot, point, kick, throw or win of their lives and walk away angry. With golf, happiness is short-lived.

On July 30, 2023, the final scorecard totaled 88. Twas the best round of my life and the first (and still only) time I broke 90. I think I posted the score on Facebook before driving away from the 18th green. I was ecstatic.

Until I wasn’t. I soon became obsessed with the three penalties and five 3-putt holes. Oh, and that bladed chip shot on the 8th. Yeah I got an 88 but God/Allah/Buddha/Elvis damn it I could’ve gotten an 82!

A dry-heat is better than humidity. Trust me. I’ve lived in Arizona a while now and have done the math…

(108° + 15% humidity) > (92° + 80% humidity)

Though turning the corner at the 10th hole often adds the heat exhaustion variable which is difficult to account for. On the one hand, high temperatures mean less people. Less people equates to faster golf. I like faster golf.

On the other: double vision, weakened limbs, potential hospitalization, and worst, bad scores. No one like bad scores.

I miss playing golf with my friend. And my uncle. Or brother. I look forward to my wife joining me on the tee. Otherwise, I’m peculiar about whom I play with.

Pairing up on course is like playing a game of 3-card monte: I might get a 10-handicapper, a 30-handicapper or someone like me. That’s a 33% chance of having a good time yet somehow, the house always wins.

To resolve this I need more friends, more uncles, additional brothers or more wives. The latter I couldn’t handle for multiple reasons. So until then, I’m on my own.

Growing up, we often wore cutoff jeans and tank-tops (or muscle shirts) on the course. Though we were often topless by the second hole. Our teenaged hormones wished women would do the same, but we understood the double standard.

Today, most golf courses have dress codes. “Slacks/nice shorts and a collared shirt”. It’s not overly enforced but the message is clear: don’t dress like the douchebag you were in high school.

I’m no golf snob but I have to say these douchebags really bother me now. I often pray to the course ranger to find and flog these guys.

• “Golfing” is not a word. Seriously, look it up.
• Playing as a single really tests one’s personal integrity.
• Cart girls can add to slow play as much as a retired couple scramble. Though rarely does anyone complain about them. Nor should they.
• Seriously, I could’ve gotten an 82!