Letters to Jim: Day 2

Dear Jim:

So, I know you want to know how day 2 of the Centennial golf tournament went. Without being dramatic it was arguably the worst day of my life!

I won’t bother you with the details (shot 100) but it was 5 hours of hacking and whacking in a non flattering display of crap. Don’t ask me how but we still ended up winning $10 after betting $500. (Skip Eaman shooting even par on the back nine may have played a role.  Our money man is a former banker and they are slippery devils at best so I’m not going to question how we did it but I feel like we stole something.

That’s it, that’s all. Golf sucks and I won’t be seen around the club again except when I go to clean out my locker.

The dinner/dance was everything I expected it to be. Black tie summer events are not to be missed. Sitting in the main room with the music blasting was a great idea. My ears are still ringing and I’m hoarse from yelling at the person sitting next to me to pass the rolls or whatever. The service was great , taking as long as our round of golf,  leaving no time for dancing. I made my escape by 11pm.

For some reason I look forward to this tournament every year. Unless I develop a mental illness this will unlikely be the case for 2012.

Bill

Letters to Jim: Life is becoming one big cliche.

Dear Jim:

I’m thinking about all the things that I’m saying to myself these days that I never thought would be part of my day to day life. It ‘s not age related but stage of life related and one cliché after another appears without warning. Here are a few samples of things I never thought I would say.

Are we too late for the early bird special?

Not again, I just went 10 minutes ago.

Get a grip man, she’s half the age of my daughter.

Nope, I don’t miss drinking a bit!

 I can’t get in the pool if it is less than 85 degrees.

I think this Black Tie dinner/dance in 35 degrees C will be a blast.

Lets do a breakfast meeting…9 am too early for you?

We can’t turn off the lights yet, it’s still daylight out there.

I would like to buy a coach ticket to Paris.

I sure hope I break 100 today!

Oh, and how did the first day of the Centennial Golf tournament go. Well after three holes I was considering suicide, after six holes the team was considering murder. Either way the threat of death hung heavy in the air throughout the round.

 It is amazing to me that a three foot putt is impossible to make under this pressure so I took them all and recorded my double or triple bogey for each hole. With a little luck after todays  second round and after paying $500 plus for lost bets the team will not want me to come to the dinner which will be held in high heat, low pleasure conditions this evening. For those who thought I was sandbagging my handicap by shooting 100+ in games prior to the tournament you were right. I shot a sizzling 99 yesterday!

Bill

Letters to Jim: How bad can it get?

Dear Jim:

So how bad can it be you ask.

On Saturday one of my golf buddies accused me of trying to artificially raise my handicap so I can be competitive in the Centennial. He thinks my attitude when I’m about to take  a triple boggie suggests that I’m faking it. In addition to insulting me (I’m used to that) he questions my integrity!  First time in 60 years.  When you are getting ready to putt a 30 footer for a 7 on the easiest par 4 on the course is it reasonable to expect deep concentration and careful execution. I think not. Of course he never takes a triple because when he gets to a double he picks up the ball and heads to the next tee.

On Sunday we played couples golf with Rick and  Valerie Doyle on the condition that I sign a release promising them that I wouldn’t name them in a “Dear Jim” letter. Of course I promised. What choice did I have? He is worse than me if that is possible but I’m not allowed to comment on that.

We have four of us who play twice a week. One of the members, who will remain nameless (Glenn Rourke), hasn’t played with us since last September. He always calls in with a conflict. I hear he has played with most of the members of the Bag Shop and his next game is with a few locker room attendants. He insists he is still a  member of the group! He keeps asking for my travel schedule.

At the Centennial where we are all supposed to stay for dinner at a team table my group wants to get home early to watch the weekend version of Wheel of Fortune so I will be at a table for two. This black tie event in high heat and humidity with ear splitting music and 400 people in a room built to accommodate 250  has always been a favorite of mine and I look forward to next years dinner/dance as soon as the current one is over.

The good news is that it is going to rain all weekend.

See you at your daughter’s wedding on Saturday. I asked her if she could move it to next weekend because I wanted  to get a new weed whacker that is on sale this weekend only. She wasn’t amused.

By the way , as Master of Ceremonies,  your instructions of no bad language, no making fun of people, no insulting comments and 90 seconds to speak have been taken in to account. I’ve now got my comments down to a barn burning 30 minutes and there won’t be a dry eye in the house when I tell them the stories of our travels together in the 70’s.

Bill

Letters to Jim: What a stupid sport!

Dear Jim:

My old swing came back! There I was on the Front nine of the Blue course whacking the ball here there and everywhere and suddenly it happened. Pars, birdie and bogeys…no doubles or worse yet triples.

I said to my old swing, “Where have you been? I missed you! I never gave up on you however as I knew that you would be back. All my friends told me so between snickers and rolling eyes. I want you to know I never said anything bad about you and believed in you all during the 2 years you were away. I love you, old swing.”

As I went by the Pro shop after nine I stuck my head in and shouted, “cancel all my lessons…no longer needed…my old swing, my buddy, greatest friend ever is back”.

Now you can see this coming from a mile away can’t you? I shot 42 on the front and 54 on the back nine. My second shot on the 10^th hole went in the water and I put down a 7..my first shot on the 11^th went in to a trap that I couldn’t get out of…and on and on. My new swing, version 22, was back with all the insecurities that only a new swing can inflict. I hate my old swing for showing up and then leaving me just when I needed it most.

If it comes back again I’m going to say “screw you and the horse you rode in on, old swing. We are finished and I’m sticking with new swing version 23 currently under construction.”

Someone sent me this analysis yesterday

"The stages of golf are Sudden Collapse, Radical Change, Complete Frustration, Slow Improvement, Brief Mastery, and Sudden Collapse."

Oh well, at least I can look forward to work this summer to keep my mind off this stupid sport.

Bill

Letters to Jim: And the winners are..

Dear Jim:

So yesterday our team won the Presidents Prize by 4 strokes playing on the more difficult of our two courses. When the Club President read my name, he and everyone who has seen me play this year had a puzzled look on their faces and wondered if there was a typo. As you know I haven’t broken 100 in a string of games that would make the very first time I played golf 30 years ago the best score of the year. I have a new swing that works from time to time but I have a very bad attitude that revolves around my deep hatred for the game of golf.
How did this happen, you ask. Well I was with new team members for the most part because my regular team, having seen my game recently all had headaches or sudden obligations that required them to play with other Bozos and I was on my own.
On the first tee, following my drive, I heard “Holly Crap” what was that. On the second hole when I was lying 5 and they hadn’t hit their second shot yet (I know you think I’m exaggerating but I’m not) I saw the beginning of anxiety on their faces. When I three putted from 4 feet on a hole where I had two shots they were in full panic.
If you are playing a tournament where four players are counting two balls you need all four guys to contribute. If one of the players is clearly out of control the pressure mounts on the remaining three to be careful because there is only one ball that can be screwed up on each hole. As a result the concentration caused by fear and panic of looking like morons to their regular colleagues produces great golf.
My contribution therefore was not related to golf but to forcing the team to really stay focused on every shot. Who knew?
 I will proudly display my winnings in the house and tell everyone who will listen about our team’s domination of this event. Only you know the real truth and you need to keep it quiet. This could change everything as teams look to find hackers to fill out their team to gain an edge.
Bill

Letters to Jim: Golf just keeps getting better and better

Dear Jim:
 
Jim,  the new season has begun and I can't believe how much I still hate this game.

First, those of you who said, "relax, it comes back" are full of Shit.
I've changed my grips, my shafts and my heads. I’ve changed my putter for a
new hydrafloppy power mesh backup tweaker model. New cleats on my shoes, new socks, new glove.

I even found a new Golf Pro who has dismissed the 50,000 swings I have taken under other Pro's over the past 15 years and given me 16 brand new swing thoughts that will change my life. It is going to take up to 3 years before it all falls in to place but every monday at 5pm you can see me thrashing away at the range.

I have discovered a new mathematical equation. The number of ways you can think of to kill yourself is directly proportional to the number of suggestions your wife offers during Sunday golf.

My last three games have been 96,94,95 and my handicap is climbing like spaceship Endeavour. I am now in the position where I can only play with another member once so it won't be long before my games will all be with guests!

The only theory that makes sense is that my new exercise program has destroyed the muscle memory of my fabulous swing of days gone by.

I did get the distinct feeling that a lot of peole are enjoying my pain. This is known as Schadenfreude or the pleasure derived from observing the misery of others. I actually have made this my main source of glee in other aspects of my life so I understand and forgive you all.

The one really good thing is that I no longer have to think about investing $100k in a golf membership in Florida. Who would want to do this 12 months a year?

Regards,

Bill

Letters to Jim: The golf game begins anew.

 Dear Jim:

In answer to the basic question, “ Is your game back?” I would have to say yes…it is back to about 1984.  I think that I must be facing death and this is clearly the “flashing before your eyes” that is reported to occur at the end.

At any rate, based on the suggestions I have been receiving I now have proof positive that there are more horse’s asses than there are horses.People have suggested I focus on the entire golf club experience and not just on the whacking of balls. In that spirit, I have discovered that I’m very good at showering. It also seems that applying talcum powder without making a mess is a skill worth bragging about. This was a good suggestion

I have discovered an enemy at the club…. it is youth! Young, fit guys with six packs and a beautiful partner on their arms should not be allowed to call you “sir”. It is demeaning and an obvious attempt to intimidate. In fact the whole raft of new members who are golfing up a storm is a problem. We need to recruit new members who don’t golf. What’s wrong with limiting new members for the next two years to swimming pool party types? Lets think out of the box.

Yesterday I discovered that when you are about to clobber someone with an errant ball your are supposed to say “ um…excuse me…Fore…I do say FORE!” This is another piece of BS that is theoretical only and in practice saying “Fore” doesn’t even remotely come in to your mind.

I was hitting my shot from under a tree with a three wood from the left rough on number four blue (yes it was my third shot). As the ball left my club I noticed that it was heading (sliced a tad I would say) directly at the wife of my friend who had asked us to play in the mixed-member. Shouting “fore” never entered my mind. My first shout was “ Holly Shit!” My second shout, much louder, was ”For Christ Sakes…DUCK!!”

Now, I couldn’t lie and say it was someone else because she saw the brand and ball number as it passed her face. I discovered several things in this incident. When someone is clearly in a state of shock humor probably isn’t appropriate. When I asked if she wanted me to drive to the clubhouse and get a change of underwear, none of the group was amused. Saying things like a “miss is as good as a mile” didn’t much cut it either. Asking, “ did you see where it landed?” didn’t bring a response either. The shock wore off after awhile and fortunately I was able to up and down, down for a six.

Lessons learned from this episode include, “ killing or maiming your friend’s wife during a game is probably not good and would ruin the whole match” On the other hand it would make a hell of a bar story. Also fairly clear is that when someone calls you an asshole more than three times in one minute it is probably not a term of endearment. I don’t think she will walk ahead of me again.

 In summary it is not going well on the golf front. Our new golf pro, Colin, has disowned me. Yesterday at the range I called to him as he passed by and asked him how he liked this shot. Without looking up he said, “Great Bob, keep it up”. Standing beside me was Ted Fletcher who also asked Colin to take a quick look at something in his swing. 10 minutes later, complete with a slow motion color video under his arm along with anatomical sketches in 3D, Ted said “thanks” and Colin moved on.

For those of you who are able to fake your sincerity in concern for my general state of emotional health, thank you for your comments. This is the last of Bill Meder.

Bill Meder