The rather strange interrogation

A few years ago I met an old curling friend for golf. After a short discussion we decided to play in Canada. I crossed over the border one Sunday, we played 18 holes, went to a pub and grub for a couple pints and some, well, grub, decided to hit the links again soon, and parted ways.
It was next, in my return to these United States, that the story became in my mind kinda weird.
I stopped at the guard booth and dutifully handed the attendant my enhanced license. "Citizenship?" he asked brusquely.
You just swiped my license, so you know the answer to that, I thought brusquely myself. But I obediently answered, "U.S."
"Purpose of your trip?"
"I was golfing with a Canadian curling friend."
The man turned to look at me and asked, I thought rather harshly, "What have you got against golf in the United States?"
"N, nothing," I heard myself stammer. "We just decided to golf in Canada."
He began staring me down, and I have to admit I was starting to feel intimidated, "Why would you decide that?"
"Well, no big reason. It seemed cheaper for me cross the border and pay in Canadian dollars, that's all."
"So what's your problem with US dollars?" continued the interrogation.
I wasn't sure how to answer that, as I truly love US dollars as much as any red blooded American. I responded meekly, "It just seemed cheaper."
The guard harrumphed, and turned to look at his monitor. "And how did you meet this 'curling friend'?" I swear you could see the quote marks hanging in the air.
I really wasn't sure how to answer that; from his tone it didn't appear as though there was a right answer. "Uh, well, curling?" It sounded even to me like I responded with the lilt of a question. That's not gonna help here, I thought with no small fear.
He asked, "Do you have your clubs with you?"
"Yes. In the back of my van." I stupidly indicated where the back of my van was with a twist of my head.
"What kind are they?" he demanded.
I answered incredulously, "Clevelands." Where's he going with this?
The guard turned again to me, handed me back my license, smiled broadly and said in the happiest tone, "Good choice. Have a nice day!"
I don't know about you, but it struck me a rather bizarre return interview.

A lack of golf fanaticism

My golf league was cancelled yesterday, an event I didn't mind one whit. I do like the game much more than I used to. But I have my limits.

I don't want to play in the rain and cold. Yes, I know you can dress for it, but why? There's no relaxation in that. You're just more entombed in additional clothes. I do not want to become one of those golfers who think like fisherman from the old joke.

You don't know the old joke? Well, it seems two guys were out fishing on a lake in a steady rain. The lake ran along a golf course. There were two guys on the course trying to play in the adverse weather. "Look at those two fools, playing golf in weather like this," remarked one fisherman to the other. He was oblivious to the irony.

I ain't oblivious to irony, and I ain't oblivious to the idea that sports and games aren't fun in poor conditions. I wouldn't play baseball in a field of cobblestones or football in a thunderstorm. I don't like golf in the cold and wet. It just ain't fun.

Mom demands to golf

I was sitting on the porch with Mom on Sunday; it was about 12:45. She always wants to go somewhere, and for the third time in ten minutes she asked me where we could go. I had been putting her off as I knew my brother was taking her to our sister's house at 1.

When she asked the fourth time I answered, "Well, let's go golfing." I said it as a joke of course. I had said it joking before in fact. She usually wrinkles up her nose in disdain at the idea.

But it turns out she can still joke too. "Okay," she replied this time, "But I'll have to borrow your clubs."

Going along with it I explained, "You can't. It's against the rules to use another player's clubs."

She got a stern look and pointed her thumb at herself. "Do you think they'll tell me no?" she declared.

We didn't go golfing. But it is cool that we can still playfully interact.

The bug has bit me, the disease takes hold

Last night I didn't shoot my age, or older. I shot a 51, my best score ever for nine holes (and in fact beating my age by a few years thank you very much). I'm beginning to believe that I might actually rise to mediocrity at golf.

I had sixes, mere bogeys, on both par fives. I had fives, mere bogeys again, on three of the par fours. On one of those par fours I had a no putt, another first for me. I was about a foot and a half on the fringe of the green and holed out. Granted, I used my putter and hit the ball firm. But as I understand that's technically a no putt as I wasn't actually on the green, so it counts.

I had a five, five, and six respectively on the par threes. Ironically then my worst holes were the three where I double parred and the other two par threes (the shortest holes). Yet on the whole, when I hit a poor shot, each time after I thought okay, just make the next one. I shot out of heavy rough to within twelve feet of the cup on the ninth hole and knew I would do it. I've felt that kind of confidence curling and playing baseball but never while golfing. I have never felt so comfortable on a golf course.

Now here's where the latent golfer in me comes out. As pleased as I am with yesterday's play, I can't shake the bit of disappointment that I did not break fifty. My three three putts cost me that. But while I'm not really mad at myself about it, I am reminded that there's still tons of room for improvement.

I'm looking forward to next Monday more than I ever thought I'd look forward to golf, and I've looked forward to it a lot in recent years. This golf disease is definitely getting a hold on me.

To Paul: my golf game

Ach. I love golf. It still ain't baseball by any stretch of the imagination. But it's got it's proper claims to fame.

The first solid drive I hit today, it was nothin' by golf standards. But for me, it was solid. In exaltation, I threw my club forward a few yards, with a clockwise twist. I couldn't believe I hit it like that. It was in the middle of the fairway, and it felt good.

The next drive a few holes later, phew, it faded right, but it went a long way.

The third, my doubles partner Ron said I would really like. And I tossed my club before he spoke; the ball landed a hundred yards from the pin. I messed up after that, but man, I loved that drive.

The fourth, then the fifth, Ron developed a new golf phrase. It was, 'Don't throw your club'. He thought folks might misunderstand my intent. He thought it was gauche.

Maybe so. But man, I hit those balls. And it felt good every one.

I. Love. Golf.