Putting It In Perspective

I know what I'm not doing. Really, I do. Um, I don't. Ah, you figure it out.

My only birdie, my only one under par in golf, was on the 8th hole, a par 3, at Dearborn Hills Golf Club on August 2, 1990. It was a 180 yard hole and I was on the green off the tee. I had about a twenty five foot putt on a wide arc to birdie. I didn't actually know what I was doing. But lo and behold, I struck the ball and into the cup it went. Marty birdied.

Leap forward to 2018, to my only no putt. I was off the fringe, in the second cut, on the second hole of the back nine in my golf league, my third shot off the tee. One of my playing partners said I should not putt, I should chip. But I struck the ball as he spoke.

The ball jumped slightly, rolled rightly, and slipped into the cup. My only technical no putt. 

So I have a birdie, and I've no putted. I feel I have nothing more to prove in golf. But watch me try. Or not try. Or, you figure it out.

The 10th Hole

Yesterday I went golfing for the first time in five years with my buddy Ron. It was a good day, and I think I played well enough for a duffer. And I beat Ron on the 10th hole.

My basic plan was to get the ball in the air. Well, except off the green. It's not considered good, in fact it's frowned upon, when you get air on the ball when you're putting. Did I mention that I beat Ron on the 10th hole?

The fact is I was getting the ball in the air when I should have been, mostly. I topped it a few times and hit ground balls. But there were times I hit the ball pretty true and had shots which made me feel good, and reminded me why I like the game. Oh, I beat Ron on the 10th hole.

I hit five greens in regulation. I don't know what that means, but judging by what the golf commentators say on TV it sounds like a good thing. I also hit six fairways, which means I made the fairway off the tee. Granted, once it was only by about a foot. But a fairway is a fairway, all the way to the edge. Have I told you I beat Ron on the 10th hole?

I was on the green from the tee on 3 of the 4 par 3 holes. The fourth time I should have been, but my aim was off, my 'towards' as Ron says. But you know what? I beat him on the 10th hole.

The score? What difference does the score make when you're out in the warm sunshine on a late summer weekday, golfing with an old friend? One who lost the 10th lost hole, by the way, on a triple bogey. It was ugly.

I find myself rethinking golf

I went golfing today, for the first time this year. And I liked it. I really liked it.

I've golfed off and on for about forty years now. My original clubs, well, the woods were real wood, real persimmon. They sit in the garage of a shared family home in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, waiting their next time upon the range. There were times where golfing was about just having fun with friends, times when it allowed me two extra curling games a year; times when I was out with my dad's youngest brother, my Uncle John. Those last times I am wholly and unashamedly sentimental about. The other times, eh, I was just kinda there.

So I never took golf seriously. But now, I'm beginning to take it seriously. Seriously because I'm starting to understand the pleasure of hitting a golf ball well.

A few times today, I hit a ball well. And man did it feel good. Not like hitting a baseball good, mind you. There ain't nuthin' like hittin' a baseball. But the sharp *ting* of a well hit golf ball off a tee? Well, it challenges that.

I think I can play this game, this golf, if I should start to take it seriously enough. I realize as I say that that I'm merely being drawn into the vortex. The golf sirens are calling to me, calling me to dash my ship against the sharp rocks on their dangerous shore. I know this. I knew it when I was on the green off the tee on a lowly par 3 and legitimately parred that hole.

I know this. But damn, their call is strong. And I was on the green off the tee.