By Karl Terry
My annual golf outing was accomplished last week. Unfortunately the wind got up on the 18th hole and that darned scorecard never made it back to the clubhouse.
My golf philosophy came directly from Forrest Gump’s momma — my game is a lot like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.
Some folks might tell me I shouldn’t expect too much when I only play once a year. I can attest however, that one year I played twice and I really sucked on the second outing that year.
I always amaze myself that I play as well as I do. But the result is always a mystery.
Take last week at this church golf scramble for instance. I hit the ball straight from the tee box and anywhere on the fairway. My chipping was either way short or way long, however. On the green it was even worse. Finally my scramble partners totally failed me and I sank a three-foot putt — one in the cup after 18 holes.
The fact that the “best ball” format had my foursome playing my drives so often should give you a little clue as to how I was hitting the ball. Yeah, they were straight but they did not go far. But you have to remember I haven’t been in the weight room since Arnold Palmer was on the Tour.
I had a great time even though I finally gave up and left my pitching wedge in the bag if I was within 75 yards of the hole. Hey, we actually used a couple of super long putts.
I got to share a cart with a guy I hadn’t met before who was playing his first-ever round of golf. Another teammate was a guy I hadn’t seen since his family moved away a several years ago.
I made it back to the clubhouse at lunch just in time to get the very last hamburger at the cookout. There was good conversation with good people while I dined.
I also managed to remember to get some sunscreen before I went out. I even managed not to miss a spot with the 50 SPF and avoided sunburn.
My putting was terrible but I still got exactly what I had hope to get out of the day. My golf probably didn’t improve one little bit but it was relaxing and full of fellowship.
Over the years of playing once a year I’ve had memorable experiences. My first game was played with a mismatched poorly sized clubs a friend had picked up at a garage sale the week before. I played one round with a guy who wore his cowboy boots and another guy who used only one club all day.
Call us misfits, but don’t call us two weeks in a row to golf.
Come to think of it, I really do feel sorry for poor old Tiger Woods.
Karl Terry writes for Clovis Media Inc. Contact him at: firstname.lastname@example.org