If you have never played golf, tennis or been on a vacation don’t bother to read today’s column. Those who qualify, please proceed to paragraph two.
Last weekend, as I trudged through a miserable round on the The Lakes golf course at Ruttger’s Bay Lake Lodge, I pondered giving up the game that has tortured me for almost 20 years.
While playing the back nine, I knew for certain I wouldn’t attempt the tee shot across the water at No. 18. Nope, not with an outdoor deck of diners and drinkers near the green, a crowd that might heckle a hacker with the same passion a hungry press corps devours a troubled politician.
But inexplicably I felt a surge in determination and confidence. Maybe these feelings came from anger generated by previous failings on past holes. Perhaps it was outrage from observing the boorish behavior of eight or so partying golfers who could have been auditioning for roles in “Caddyshack II” while yelling at one another, playing loud music and posing for photos on the fairway.
My tee shot on No. 18, a par three, took off low and straight, then landed on the green within a few feet of the hole. Two putts and I finished with a par.
Now I was looking to play to the crowd on the nearby deck. The apprehension of several minutes ago was gone, replaced with anticipation of admiration, perhaps even applause.
There was a problem, though. No one had paid any attention to me. Hardly anyone was on the deck and the few who were seated had no clue I revived my golf psyche. I wanted to doff my cap after that surprising par but no one was interested except my wife who acknowledged I made a “nice shot” on my drive from the tee box.