Polite Fiction

Golf and sex are about the only things you can enjoy without being good at it.
~Jimmy Demaret

I’ve been frustrated lately because of golf. On the surface the object of the game seems simple but the mechanics of getting a small ball into a tiny hole from the span of several hundred yards is very difficult. As frustrating as golf can be it does make a promise to the player…practice more and your score will improve. I guess this is true for any sport but in golf it seems deceptively easy.

I played 18 holes yesterday with my father and brother. They both got bit by the golf bug and they both are making huge improvements to their game. This creates a dilemma because I hate letting them get the best of me in anything since it only leads to ridicule (my family is weird). That said I have been playing as much as my busy schedule can spare…which is not a lot.

Another layer of frustration is in the way my family keeps score. They like to fudge the numbers and that irritates me to no end. My brother conveniently forgets a few strokes here and there and so does my father. I may be a little anal about this but I believe the only way to measure real improvement is to keep REAL scores. Bleh…there’s only so much complaining I can do when in Rome. (Stay classy San Diego)

I know I’ll never be a Tiger Woods but I’m hoping to bring my game below 100. I’d be living the dream if I make par for a course. Everything would be right in the world if I could just beat my brother and father by a good 20 strokes. Hell, I’ll even settle for not yelling FORE every other drive. Let’s pray I don’t kill anyone with my slice.