Still not a golfer
Try as I might, I don't think I'll win any green jackets any time soon.
Thursday afternoon I tried my hand at golf for about the third or fourth time during the Rutherford County Chamber of Commerce Spring Tournament at Meadowbrook Golf Course.
I guess you could say that I'm most familiar with this course considering it's the only one I've played twice. Unfortunately, it didn't help much.
I took a few trips to the driving range before the tournament in hopes of mastering at least one of the old, dirty, worn out, dented clubs in my bag, but despite the sore arms, tweaked back and words of wisdom from my golfing buddy, I was just as hapless on Thursday as I was in the same tournament a year ago.
I will brag and say that I sinked a few crucial birdie putts for my team along the way. However, it seemed that the more blue cans of bubbly refreshment I raised to my lips the further my putts drifted from the hole.
And aside from those putts, I didn't help my team — consisting of myself, my buddy, my boss and my neighbor — terribly much. If memory serves me right, we used just one of my tee shots and one of my approach shots. But let me tell you, that approach shot from just under 100 yards with my pitching wedge was a beauty. I don't know what got into me. Then I nailed the putt for birdie. You're welcome, fellas.
As the day got hotter my clubs stayed ice cold. I didn't lose too many balls this year but the ones I did leave one the course were sacrificed because I wasn't wearing the proper apparel to climb through bushes and briars for a cheap ball that came in a red mesh bag with 23 other dimply spheres of frustration.
In the end it was a fun day. I never go into a round with any type of expectations because that ruins the fun for me. Allowing myself to accept the fact that I'm a lousy golfer makes every halfway-decent shot that much more memorable. Next year I won't remember that tee shot that rolled just out of the tee box, but I'll be able to paint a watercolor of that 100-yard approach.
I do hope that one day I'll be a serviceable golfer. I'll never hold a trophy or get in the local paper for winning a county tournament, but maybe the time will come where my handicap is less than my age.
Until then, a day out of the office with some good people is a perfect way to spend the day, even if a white ball weighing less than two ounces is crippling my manhood and laughing at me the whole way.
For now I'm going to take a sabbatical from organized competition until I work out a few kinks and maybe even buy a pair of those dress shoes with spikes on them. Upon my return I'll just have to remember to keep my swing steep, my head down and finish high. And if that doesn't work, I'll blame the clubs.