Experience: A Golfer’s Story – August 16, 2003
At the request of daughter number three, I risk boring you with a golf story, which she favored over another ramble on the neurobiology of knowledge.
It is late fall. I look over the golf course in my back yard. The leaves have turned and most have fallen. The tamarack trees are orange. The grass is starting to fade. The wonder of another change of season brings memories of prior times with friends and family. One memory I wish to share is the lesson of the potential of pleasant surprises on any day of our lives.
It was the August 2003 week-end golf Club Championship at SM Country Club. As advertised, this is an annual event to determine the champion of all the male club golfers; young, middle-aged and old -- good, bad and ugly; but mostly middle-aged and ugly.
It started badly. I felt slighted by not receiving an automatic bid for seeding in the low 8 of 16 players. I couldn't play in our Friday qualifier round because of work and without a seed, I was out of the tournament. As a 4.8 handicap, I felt that I deserved to be one of the low 8 seeds -- it shouldn't matter that I hadn't broken 80 in the last two weeks from the white tees because of a recently acquired but persistent yip with my driver. I wanted to play -- whether my game was competitive or not! But now my playing seemed unlikely. I was surprised when several days before the weekend, I got a phone call from our golf pro asking if I wanted to be in the field as the #7 seed because of two late dropouts. The game was on!Friday, the day before the tournament, was horrific at work because of a power outage. I became miserable. I was grumpy and didn't wish to socialize. My wife, MJ, shamed me into a cameo to a farewell cocktail party for our friends B and MF D. The party elevated my mood marginally, it made me happy to hear other people's problems. After saying goodbye to B and MF, MJ and I went to the Larkin restaurant for dinner. Consoled by some excellent Tetley ale with dinner, I came home, went to bed and suffered a miserable night's sleep with a stiff neck.Saturday morning came -- ready or not. I certainly was not feeling ready for competitive golf. I went to warm up at the practice range. Negative thoughts invaded my mind: Would my swing be functional? Would I embarrass myself with a miserable showing? Should I withdraw using the time-honored excuse of a "sports injury"? I felt stiff and old -- I am stiff and old. I hit a few balls, none well, about 1 in 10 with any control. I looked around at my fellow competitors. CH, CL, DL, MikeM (my worthy opponent for the first round), and MR. All were striking each shot crisply with the tell-tale sizzle of the ball that equates to perfect contact. I started to panic. I tried every Band-Aid swing thought -- but things got worse. I became paralyzed by analysis. I stayed so long trying to fix my driver swing that I didn't have time to practice putting. I was desperate not to crash and burn in front of my peers. I didn't want to hear that I had no business being seeded #7 -- even though it was true!The rite of the first tee is intimidating. Other club members and competitors huddle about, watching each of us tee-off in hope of seeing a topped shot or a ball sliced out of bounds; allowing them the pleasure of thinking they could have done as well. My opponent, Mike M is a wonderfully nice man with a legitimate 5 handicap. I (and likely everyone else) felt he had the advantage. He had played well in the Friday qualifier shooting a 78 or 79 and had been striking the ball solidly. He was also younger, stronger, and in better shape than I. As the #7 seed, I was on top of the scorecard and had "the honor" to tee-off first. I cleared my mind, took the club slowly back and then lurched into a forward spasm - the ball careening dead left in a smothered pull into the rough on the ninth hole. A long quiet period, then a quip from our pro, SJ, "That seems a popular spot!" I couldn't bear to watch Mike hit his drive, but the sound of pure contact, the applause from the crowd and our Pro's comment, "Great ball!" told me the result.We decided to ride in a cart -- likely a good decision as I would spare a caddy embarrassment, and proceeded to our balls. It was with slight relief that I found I had a decent lie in the rough. I felt it was conceivable that I could hit a high faded 5-iron to the green, 180 yards away, through a slot between two trees that were 50 yards in front of me. With a swing than previously produced a 10% success rate, the ball took off solidly, barely clearing the trees. I could no longer see distances more than about 150 yards away, but I heard Mike yell, "Great shot!" My spirits lifted a bit. The mental fog started to fade away. Approaching the green, I saw I had hit it to 12 feet from the pin. Mike had made a solid shot to the front of the green, but rolled his putt 4 feet by and missed the come back. Even with no practice putts, I was able to get down in 2 for a par. I was one up. My mindset changed -- I forgot about trying to make a good swing and accepted an imperfect rhythm and tempo that led to imperfect but playable shots for the next three holes. Mike had won the third hole and we were tied, both one over par. On the fifth hole, a 522 yard par 5, we both hit the green in regulation, Mike 20 feet, and I, 40 feet from the hole. Standing over the putt, a peculiar thought entered my mind from playing recently with my friend DC, who had joked, "See the golden path of the ball -- each shot is its own reward." What bull-s___! I looked at the hole, and not really trying, put a good roll on the ball. I looked up and to my surprise saw the ball track squarely into the dead center of the cup. Mike let out a gasp, but gentleman that he is, congratulated me and then missed his 20 footer. I was back to one up.The sixth hole plays 419 yards from the back tees. I had not played the back tees once that year. With false confidence, I over-swung and barely made contact on the toe of my Great Big Bertha II driver. The shot felt awful but the ball went straight down the center of the fairway, at no point more than 4 feet off the ground. Mike hit a well struck, but pulled shot into the left rough, one of his few drives that missed the fairway. We drove off to the balls. I was astounded. My low skulled drive had rolled about 280 yards down the left center of the fairway leaving me a 9 iron to the green. What golf club technology! Mike had caught a bad break and was buried in a terrible lie in the rough. He hacked his ball back to the fairway, hit the green but then missed a 25 footer for bogey. I hit the green and two putted for par -- two up.The seventh hole is our number 1 handicap hole and had been plaguing me because of my inconsistent drives. I hit a big fade to the center of the fairway as did Mike, both of us about 150 yards from the green. We both proceeded to hit bad 8 irons, mine pushed to the right, off a tree limb and into the right fescue about 10 yards from the green. I went to my ball but couldn't find it. Mike came over cheerfully to help me look. Suddenly, the Pro appeared -- "I saw it Doc, your ball is right over here". At first glance it did not seem like such a bad lie for the fescue, but on closer inspection my ball was sitting about 6 inches off the ground, suspended on matted grass. Mike was just off the green in the left rough. I took a swing with a 60° wedge that barely contacted the bottom of the ball, it popping almost straight into the air and landing several feet short of the green. Somehow the ball bounced upward and kicked unexplainably hard to the pin, rolling to 4 inches from the cup. My opponent walked over and knocked the ball back to me. The Pro. who had not been watching, came back over, clearly surprised as I was smugly tossing the ball up and down in my left hand with a par. Mike couldn't get up and down, and now I was three up.Number eight is a short-ish 381 yard par 4 with no particular trouble. Both Mike and I hit the fairway and made good second shots into the green. I was just thinking about my lead, and made a bad stroke, missing my 12 footer. Mike smoothly rolled in his five foot putt to get back to two down. On the 9th hole, two smooth swings left me a 6 foot putt which I holed for birdie and a win. A few people were gathered by the 10th tee including our Pro. Mike showed him our score after 9 -- Mike a 2 over par 39, and I, a 1 under 36. The Pro looked at me quizzically.Number ten is a potentially driveable 310 yard par four. With my driver confidence problems I pulled out a seven wood and with our Pro watching, I nearly whiffed, hitting a weak shot to the right but getting a good bounce in the fairway. Both Mike and I were able to par the hole for a half. The eleventh hole from the blue tees requires a draw to avoid the right rough. I was unable to hit any shot but a fade or slice with my driver but somehow managed to hit a draw with my three wood into the center of the fairway. With confidence building I hit a smooth iron to the center of the uphill green and two putted for par. Mike lost the hole with a bogey. On the par 3 twelfth hole, we both missed the green, but I was able to get up and down for par, winning yet another hole -- five up.The 13th hole is a 485 yard par 5 with long fescue along the right side and a creek all along the left. Fearing my slice, I badly pulled the ball left into the seventh fairway, nearly hitting my friend, JC. Somehow I was able to recover for par, halving the hole. Dormie!Holes fourteen through eighteen at SM are great finishing holes and except for the 165 yard par 3 fifteenth, are tortuous. Fourteen, a dogleg left 376 yard par 4, required a shot over a line of tall trees to allow a faded or sliced drive a chance at making the fairway. With the confidence of knowing I only needed to halve one more hole, I picked a line over the trees for a high fade. The swing felt okay, but as I looked up, I saw the ball bulleting 20 yards too far to the left and 10 yards too low to clear the trees. Mike and I both carefully listen for the sound of hard contact of golf ball on tree. We heard nothing and looked at each other. I could tell Mike was certain my shot didn't make it over. On that line, even if my ball miraculously missed the trees, I would still need at least 270 yards of carry to reach the left rough. As Mike had hit the center of the fairway, 120 yards from the green, I didn't want to hit a provisional ball at this point in the match and we drove out to look for my ball in the left rough. After a minute or two (definitely less than 5) I spotted a glint of white nestled deeply down in the grass, but only 85 yards from the hole. One more good swing with my 60° wedge and two putts later, I had won my first club championship match. Mike congratulated me and at his request we agreed to finish the round.Through the 15th, 16th and 17th holes, my driver play remained marginal but my iron play was solid and I easily parred these holes, hitting each green in regulation. At that point Mike notified me that I was one under par from the back tees. I had not thought of my score up to that moment. Previous to this my best round had been even par 72 from the white tees. I was over 50 years old now and realized my future chances of breaking par would be decreasing.Standing on the tee of our 18th hole, a 421 yard dogleg left with an elevated green, memories of other good rounds ruined by snap hooks into the trees on the left or bad slices into the trees on the right flew through my mind. I decided to go with what had served me to this point and hit a hard slice into the deep right rough about 160 yards from the green. More bad thoughts tormented me -- if my next shot is a flyer out of the rough, I will be dead over the green with little chance of getting up-and-down. If I catch too much rough and end up short of the green I would still have a chance for an up-and-down par for 71. I elected for the short play, selected an eight iron and caught a lot of grass, pulling the shot well left. The ball had no spin, hit several yards short of the green and bounced upward onto the upper level of the greeen. I watched as the ball curved slowly to the right and caught the downslope, tracking toward the pin to about 8 feet just above the hole. Now all I needed was a two-putt from 8 feet. Again the flurry of negative thoughts -- too hard would leave a 3 - 4 footer back up the hill -- too easy, a two-foot downhill knee-knocker. I honestly don't remember pulling the trigger on my putt but I looked up to watch the ball take a 12 inch right to left break and slowly drop across the front center of the hole for birdie. I'd shot my personal best round -- two under par 70 to Mike's good round of 78.Back at the clubhouse the Pro seemed startled by my 70. Why not? He hadn't seen me hit one good shot. The computer that we use to track our handicaps told me to check my entry as my score was lower-than-expected. New respect came from my competitors. I was a contender! Unfortunately it didn't last long. The next day in round two, I fell into my prior funk and shot 80-ish, losing to MR, 3 and 2. What the golf gods giveth, they taketh away.