A column about my tormented golf game? I have contemplated such an effort for weeks. Voices race through my head both urging and protesting the exercise of writing a golf confessional. Today I relented.
Me: Why now? Why are you willing to do a self-analysis today?
Self: I am desperate for a column idea. And maybe this interview will at least shut you up until you start second-guessing the stock portfolio tonight.
Me: How would you describe your game in 2012?
Self: Depressing and painful. I am playing my worst golf in many years, and that’s like saying the Washington Generals have slipped a notch or two.
Me: Doesn’t anything about the game perk you up?
Self: Yes, the greeting card “New Father’s Day Golf Rules” published by Tomato Cards.
Me: What?
Self: You remember…Bill gave me a Father’s Day card with 10 new suggested “golf rules.” I found several of them therapeutic including these:
“Every drive is a practice drive till you get one you like.”
“Subtract one stroke for every tee you remember to pick up.”
“Chipping on the green will be replaced by an underhand toss.”
Me: That stuff won’t work. Your golf partners aren’t going to go for that. Besides, you had five lessons this summer from a pro. Those first-time lessons should make a difference.
Self: Yeah, I thought so, too, but my scores on the course are higher than in past years. My golfing buddy Ron said: “You are worse. You’re discombobulated.”
Me: Did you take anything positive away from last week’s 18 holes played with Ron?
Self: Well, we huddled behind a tree during a downpour and analyzed the Obama–Romney race for the White House. That was fun, and after my clubs got soaked and we resumed play I had another excuse for my lousy round. But I can’t remember the last time I played 18 holes and didn’t lose a golf ball. In fact, I found a couple of good balls. So you could say I was “plus two for the day.”
Me: That sounds pretty good. And here’s another positive thing to remember about playing golf. Downstairs in the house is a golf trophy that our buddy Myron came up with a couple years ago that is supposed to be awarded to the winner of our annual golf competition.
Self: Puh-leeze. It’s no ego trip winning that every summer. Myron plays tennis three times per week. He golfs three times a year.
Me: Well, you don’t have to tell people stuff like that. Just modestly point to the trophy and say, “Aw, shucks, I’ve been fortunate to win that sucker every year.”
Self: You know what? The best thing about my game this year is the golf lessons have me twisting and turning more than ever. The result? Chronic pain in my rib cage has lessened, and sometimes goes away for days.
Me: That alone is reason to keep playing. Better health through better twisting. I like it.
Self: Well, I haven’t given up on golf. It’s just that the game would be so much easier if I could be a specialist – like in football. Let somebody else drive, or hit from the fairway. Designated putter is a role that has appeal.
Me: So you’re willing to commit to next year on the links despite the understandable off-year in 2012?
Self: Probably, but I did receive a swimming challenge from brother-in-law Mark. He’s riding high these days after swimming across a big lake in Montana. He emailed this last week: “See you next year at Flathead Lake, kid. Golf, you know, is the lazy man’s sport. Just hit the ball and take the cart. Tough.”
Me: Uh, oh.
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