200 Yards

Losing my noodle at Diamond Ridge.

I must have been crazy saying yes to round of golf during the hottest week of the year. Pushing 104F on the course, I was lucky to have my trusty styrofoam Chick-Fil-A cup for ice and water. Brutal really is the only way to describe conditions today.

I've taken to using a new driver, one of those monster-sized concoctions with a very obnoxious "tink" sound when hitting the ball. At first, I was skeptical of these monster drivers but when I started seeing the results, I was astounded. 200 yard drives seemed almost effortless, then give a little more oomph and I'm thinking I'm driving 250 yards.

Years ago, I used to slice the ball. Now, I'm hooking it off to the left. To assuage this problem, I've taken to either targeting slightly to the right of my target or drastically to the right of my target. This works rather well until the time that I stroke it true and straight, sending the ball careening off to the right (or drastic right).

It's been two summers since I've played a proper round of golf so my short game has gone incredibly soft. Where once I could readily gauge the distance and stroke power, now I'm overshooting the green. Add this to the blistering heat and stifling humidity and I'm simply suffering on the course.

While I didn't shoot a very tight round of golf, losing four balls in the process, I did manage to cap off the day with a perfect par 5 on the 18th hole. Nice!

Stroke Par to Green, Then Two Putt

A visual reward at the end of a long round.

My father, a true lover of golf, has remarked that a bad day on the course is better than a day at work.

He lies.

The Bob is in town and wanted to play a round. Never mind that it's a blistering 100F with humidity and direct sunshine. Never mind that sane people consider this suicide. It's all good, no matter what happens.

I knew it was an off-day the moment I started on the small basket of balls at the driving range. Everything except that satisfying "clink!" of the club against ball. Chops, curves, hooks and slices. Ugly.

On the course it was worse. If I was lucky, the ball would hook. Heat exhaustion and fatigue set in quickly and dogged me the entire way. After three holes, a pattern began to emerge.

Stroke Par to the green then two putt.

Meaning if the hole was Par 5 then it would take me five strokes to reach the green and maybe two putts to sink the ball.

Perhaps not the most inspired game of golf in my life...