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.
Wigwam Blue Course. 109° in the Arizona sun. Just off the 18th hole. The scorecard read 91. Tied for third best ever. Walking off the course I was pleasantly surprised, but was not happy.
Started off holes 1, 2 and 3 with double bogeys; including an opening drive likely landing in someone’s swimming pool. I was sweating and breathing heavy. Perhaps playing too fast. Perhaps it was the heat. My swing was just off and save for a few good putts, was playing awful. I considered quitting after hole 4 but am too cheap to lose out on the $35 green fees. Four holes at $35 equals $8.75 a hole. Or to put it another way: $35 for about 25-minutes of golf. That was not going to happen.
Finished the back nine with three more penalties and four 3-putt holes — four 3-putt holes in a row to be clear. I was not happy and had reason. Still, the scorecard read 91. Tied for third best ever.
Conversely, there were consecutive pars on holes 8, 9, 10 and 11. First time ever parring four straight holes.
Hole 14 is advertised as a 266 yard par 4. Short for a par 4 though has always been a goal to drive the green. At age 53, I know time is running out to drive a golf ball that far. Eight previous attempts resulted in failure. Eight attempts and multiple mulligans.
That day I hit a drive as good as any drive in the past four years. There was no need to even attempt a mulligan. It was not going to get any better. Unless there was wind at my back. Which there wasn’t. The drive went straight and long. Long for me. It was up to the golf-gods to determine if the three bunkers guarding the front of the green would come into play and block me from (very) minor immortality.
A drive-by of all three bunkers showed they were empty. About 30-feet from the hole was a ball. An orange Callaway Super Soft. The ninth time was the charm. The Garmin Golf app measured the drive at 238 yards. Twenty-eight yards less than advertised. For the first time, I was putting for eagle. Soon after I was putting for birdie. Then eventually for par. The third of four 3-putt holes in a row.
That 91 on the scorecard could’ve/would’ve/should’ve been an 88. Tied for best ever. Maybe it could have been lower. Which would have been my best ever.
Could’ve/would’ve/should’ve.
Walking off the 18th green, I had accomplished a couple of feats I had never done before. I also left eight strokes that could be the difference between a chance at the PGA Senior Tour or quitting the game altogether. I jest of course. I could never quit.
Golf is great. And it sucks.
