Scrambled
I think about golf a lot. Not that I am particularly good at it. After all, I have managed, after five years of playing to have reached a 25 handicap. Although, in total honesty if I was playing the course that my neighbor regularly plays, I suspect I would be closer to a twenty. That might not sound like a big distinction, but for a Geezer Golfer like me I need all the help I can get.
As I have mentioned, I like to watch golf on TV as much for its ability to stimulate naps as much as to see players on lush, sunny courses while the winter winds whip through these North Georgia pines. Of course, like any self-professed golfing Geezer there is the added benefit of schadenfreude as I watch these multi-millionaires fling their golf balls out into the most obscure locations on the course. I can do that! I say to myself. Then, as if by design these skillful players turn near disaster into a birdie or par by hitting some miraculous shot that plops onto the green next to the pin.
But occasionally, just ever so often the player’s hopeful shot goes further awry. Perhaps the ball hits a low branch and drops into the rough or failing to get under it, the ball goes a few feet and buries itself in some part of the off-fairway hell. Then I repeat – I can do that!
Which brings me to my most recent foray on the links – a scramble. For the uninitiated, a scramble combines the best and worst playing of a foursome or a group of foursomes. Essentially everyone hits their ball and then depending on who is closest to the pin at that point, everyone moves to that point and hits again. This goes on until the lowest scoring person holes out. In some cases, if it is only one foursome then partners are chosen, and then they rotate every six holes to even out the poor from the worst players.
The upside of this kind of play is that often a bad player (perhaps moi) and a reasonably decent player can achieve a combined score much lower than they could on their own. Since I normally shoot from 95 to 105 on a given day, my last foray with my scramble partners earned me an 84. Unfortunately, that doesn’t count for handicap purposes. Still, I got to see what some of my Geezer cronies can really do. On the last six holes I got the ball on the green and my partner put the ball in the cup. I still had to give him the dollar at the end. (As Geezers that is all the stakes we play for.)
However, as with when I watch the pros, I was able to exercise my schadenfreude needs watching up close how some of my playing partners botched their shots. There were errant drives, topped second shots, lifetimes spent trying to get out of deep sand, and putts that at the very last second veered past the hole and dribbled off the green. Whenever I placed a shot close to where I had aimed, I rejoiced, and felt the game was not so bad after all. Of course, one must remember the immortal words of Sir Percy Blakeney who said, “Nothing is so bad as something that is not too bad.” – The Scarlet Pimpernel.
Still, on this last outing, my first following a three-month long-playing hiatus, I put my own score down as a 94. There were the usual errant shots and poor club choices, but in the end, my only really bad hole was the infamous 15th which seemed to cause all of us trouble.
The golf gods had their way with me on the 18th. Everyone watched my drive go straight down the middle and bounce over the Cartpath to the perfect spot for a lay-up. I proudly strode up to where eight eyes had seen the ball go only to find none there. We looked and looked. I mean, how can a Srixon two-color ball disappear in a half inch of fairway? We checked sprinkler holes, chuck holes, dips and divots – nada. I had driven into the Bermuda Triangle of the 18th, a place where, if the ball happens to take a last hop, it can bounce down the cart path and off into an arm of the Okeefenokee Swamp. Not fair!Then again, nothing about this game is fair. One battles body, mind, spirit, divots, bad lies, poor putts, yips, poor aims and the vagaries of wind, weather, landscape and increasing old age to chase the ball. It only takes one good hole, even one good hit to make us come back again. Perfection is not my goal, endurance is.
