Golf is a funny game
Normally I am not one to self promote, but this week I just can’t help myself.
I have been playing the game of golf for a long time. I played at the varsity level in high school 10 years ago, and have played recreationally ever since.
My game has never improved, and in fact it has steadily gotten worse.
To be honest with you, I couldn’t care less if my golf game improves. I don’t plan on trying to make the PGA Tour anytime soon, so why does it matter?
I play for fun. I play because I enjoy the time away from the real world hassles, and because it gives me a chance to spend some quality time with friends who I may not see too often.
But most importantly, I play because you never know what could happen out on the golf course, especially what happened to me just a few weeks ago.
On a scorching Saturday afternoon three weeks ago, I journeyed to Traditions of Braselton to play a round of golf with three of my closest friends. We didn’t know that on that day we would all be witnesses to the crowning achievement in my horrendous golf career.
After three bad holes to start off my round, and after a brief delay because the course was crowded, we all stood on the tee box of No. 4 ready to attack this difficult par-5.
(As a side note, I must point out that I absolutely dread playing the fourth hole at Traditions. It’s a tricky par-5 that I normally get a double-bogey or worse on. But not today.)
After crushing my drive (with my $20 Wal-Mart driver, mind you) 250 yards down the center of the fairway, I was left with a rather difficult decision. If I went for the green in two, I would have to hit a perfect shot in order to clear the hazard and reach the green that was 203 yards away.
And as we all know, perfect shots are something that definitely are not my forte. So I heeded the advice of my good friend, Jade Pethel, who was riding along with me.
“Which club do you hit more consistent?” Pethel asked, knowing that the answer would be “none of them.”
I lied and said 5-iron, to which he responded, “Go for it.”
So I pulled out the 5-iron, planted my feet, took a little practice swing, and then went at it.
As soon as the ball left the clubface I knew it was a good shot, so I ran to the right so I could see the green and where my ball was headed.
I watched as the ball bounced in front of the green, rolled on and then disappeared.
“Holy (expletive deleted),” I thought. “That ball went in the hole.”
I looked over to Pethel.
“Dude, your ball went in,” he exclaimed.
Being the modest guy that I am, I shrugged it off and believed that the ball probably rolled past the hole and out of sight.
We rolled up to the green and my ball was nowhere in sight. “Surely my ball didn’t go in,” I said. “It couldn’t have.”
Not caring about his shots, Pethel jumped out of the cart, sprinted across the green and gazed into the hole. What he saw, and what I saw seconds later, was my Dunlop Loco ball sitting at the bottom of the cup.
I had double-eagled the hole.
After much jubilation, celebratory libations and the cleaning of my shorts, I had all of my playing partners sign the ball for me. I too signed and dated the ball and will place it upon my mantel for all to see.
The game of golf is funny. Anyone who has ever stepped foot on a course with me, or has heard of my follies out there would never believe that I was capable of such a remarkable feat.
A double-eagle. I still can’t believe it.
So for all you golfers out there, let me tell you this: You may get frustrated when you shank your tee shots, duff your approaches and misread your putts, but don’t worry. One day the golf gods will shine down upon you and you will make a shot like I did.
Just don’t celebrate too much after you make that shot, because what the gods giveth, the gods taketh away and you’ll end up erasing that double-eagle with a triple-bogey on the very next hole, like I did.
Golf. What a funny game.