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 art of the sale

Joe Cosgriff is not for sale. Or he doesn't sell things. Or something like that.

When my kids were young we traipsed down the street and visited Grandma Cosgriff and Grandpa Joe quite often, usually once a week. Grandma would often begin such visits with a small list of things available to us: cookies, coffee, candy and the like. Grandpa Joe would quickly stop her with an abrupt, "Don't sell them on it! They know they can have what they want and all they want." Grandma would purse her lips in mild anger, and that would be that. We'd get cups of coffee or cookies and go on about a conversation.

But interestingly, if by some chance Grandma was not nearby, Grandpa Joe would launch into a litany: there's coffee on the stove, and cookies in the jar, and cake on the table (plates on the shelf, forks in the drawer) and so on. Then he would realize what he was doing and add, "But I'm NOT selling you on it. I'm only telling you where everything's at."

It was merely a variation on a theme. But it may have been my first experience with what the politicians would call 'spin'. Grandpa Joe could certainly put his spin on things.

Joe and the art of the sale

Joe Cosgriff is not for sale. Or he doesn't sell things. Or something like that.
When my kids were young we traipsed down the street and visited Grandma Cosgriff and Grandpa Joe quite often, usually once a week. Grandma would often begin such visits with a small list of things available to us: cookies, coffee, candy and the like. Grandpa Joe would quickly stop her with an abrupt, "Don't sell them on it! They know they can have what they want." Grandma would purse her lips in mild anger, and that would be that. We'd get cups of coffee or cookies and go on about a conversation.
But interestingly, if by some chance Grandma was not nearby, Grandpa Joe would launch into a litany: there's coffee on the stove, and cookies in the jar, and cake on the table (plates on the shelf, forks in the drawer) and so on. Then he would realize what he was doing and add, "But I'm NOT selling you on it. I'm only telling you it's there if you want it."
It was merely a variation on a theme. But it may have been my first experience with what the politicians would call 'spin'. Grandpa Joe could certainly put his spin on things.