Dear Jim:
Well it has taken 36 years but my handicap is now the same as it was in 1981. Thousands spent on lessons, golf weeks and countless hours of practicing. Almost 2500 rounds of golf, 12,000 hours of hitting and walking in a mindless Groundhog Day kind of routine. What a completely useless waste of a life. Name me one other passive sport where you end up as you began. The only difference between then and now is that now there is no hope for the future. Tomorrow I play with Sally and she has to give ME strokes…yikes the humiliation of it all.
And if that wasn’t bad enough I continue to achieve new milestones in a sport that shows no mercy regardless of age or commitment. In a tournament last weekend I hit a shot that I have never done before. I stood in front of my ball in a sand trap, my favorite shot by the way, and took my normal, guaranteed out of the trap, swing. I looked on to the green but no ball.
WTF, I said to myself.
I looked down and there was the mark I had made in the sand… 4 inches closer to me than the ball.
Didn’t think that would be possible but hang on. I did it three times in three different traps!
Hasn’t happened since. Is my brain being manipulated by some higher power that is just screwing with me or are circuits just burned out and misfiring?…who knows.
I had the pro shop install one of those big putter grips on my trusty Scotty Cameron that has served me well. People say they love the feel of the big grip and it is true. I loved the feel also and enjoyed standing around the green holding on to it.
The one problem they failed to mention is that with that grip you cannot transmit the command down to the blade to put the ball into the hole.
During our tournament I missed 6 short putts that all would have counted. They weren’t even close. My teammates had expressions on their face like you would at the beginning of your colonoscopy.
I can’t do speed or direction.
Final putt for birdie on 17 Blue…6 feet. Hit the ball 4 feet…just barely made the remaining 2 footer as it circled the cup twice before falling in. Fat grip bites the dust today and I asked the pro shop to have it cremated to ensure no bad Karma remains. I hope my new Scotty Cameron grip is forgiving and I apologized to it for having put it through these changes.
And finally, I played with someone for the first time on Tuesday. Front nine..45. Ok, respectable and not unpleasant to watch.
Second nine. 57.
You laugh…it’s not funny. It is impossible to do that. I called “Ripley’s believe it or not” to see if it has ever happened. Nope!
So how did that happen? you ask .
Well I started on the 10th and went 7,7,7, and the only reason I took 6 on the next hole was because it was a par 3. For the next holes I then went water, water, water and finally two in the water on 17, a short par 3. I have no recollection of the 18th
We didn’t have a drink after the round (he was in a hurry to get away) and he didn’t say, “that was fun, lets do it again some time”.
I am going to have to wear a disguise next time out.
And finally, Sally went off to LA to visit and left me in charge of the house for the week. She will be home in a few hours and hopefully by then the gardeners will have replaced all the dead plants. I did promise to water every day but surely not every one of them needs it every day. And who knew a plant could drown?
There are a lot of inefficiencies in running this place. I started off not making the bed which makes sense, then not opening the curtains in the morning, or hanging up my clothes at the end of the day or putting anything away that I might need later. It wouldn’t look good on a snap inspection but hey, when you are all alone nobody knows that you are living like a slob.
I only ran the dishwasher once. You don’t need fancy plates for most food and knives and forks are highly overrated for many foods.
At any rate you get the picture. If Sally wasn’t coming home today the house would be on the market by mid next week and advertised as a fixer upper.
Talk soon
Bill Meder
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