From the Braver Institute
Note to the reader: I know that I have written an awful lot about golf this summer. Such is the way things are when dealing with an addiction. I promise that this will be the last piece I write on the subject for the rest of the year.
“It is entirely possible that this weekend will be my last chance to play golf this season,” I said to my good friend Wayne Ghengis as we drove along on our way to Escanaba.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, it is early October and the odds are good that there will be more golfing opportunities, but with the days getting shorter and the weather getting worse, golfing after work will be a challenge. And on the weekends when I have my daughters I won’t be able to go since I wouldn’t subject them to riding around in a golf cart in these cooler temperatures, and that leaves only two weekends open for me to golf and once again the weather could have other plans.”
Even as we were driving, the prospect of playing golf looked questionable since it was cold and raining. Wayne and I had been golfing our way through a pile of golf passes that we had to use up and that is the reason we were going to Escanaba on a rainy Sunday morning. It was a use them or lose them situation.
Coincidentally, my first round of golf for the season (with the exception of a scramble I played in a few weeks earlier) was played at the Escanaba Country Club and that is where we were now headed. The Escanaba Country Club was looking like it would be the bookends of my golf season.
I should note here that I am not a good golfer. Last year was the first time I had ever played. This year I became addicted. I started the season scoring in the area of 125, which is horrible. By the end of the summer my score was typically in the 106 range, which is a significant improvement but still bad. My goal for this year was to break 100, or at least break 50 if I was shooting nine holes.
At the course, the guy in the pro shop looked at us like we were completely insane to even think of golfing in this weather. He had contemplated not even opening the course that morning. We had the course to ourselves.
By the time we reached the back nine the sky cleared up and we were able to take our raincoats off.
As things turned out, this would not be the last golf of the season for me. The weather became so nice that we went on to play the Gladstone Golf Course that afternoon on our way home.
After that, Wayne and I would get together at the Indian Lake Golf Course as often as possible, almost nightly, after work. It was a challenge to do it, but we were able to squeak in nine holes before the sun would dip below the horizon. Each night it would get darker earlier.
With all this golfing I expected to get better and I probably was, except there would always be one hole where my game would fall completely apart. I felt great when I was hitting bogeys or even double bogeys, and that was happening all of the time. I would even get a few pars thrown in now and then, but then there would be one miserable hole that would totally negate any decent golf I had played.
Every night I would think that this was my last chance to reach my goal, the last time I would golf for the season.
But it wasn’t.
To be continued …
— — —