Yesterday I played in our regular skins game and had a round that was simultaneously one of my worst and one of my best. I started out with an encouraging birdie, and immediately followed that with two three putt bogies. About that time the weather turned cold and windy and my game continued it’s downward slide. By the end I’d won no skins, lost big at wolf, and tied my worst score in several months.
But I had the best time that I’d had in months. Everyone in my fivesome was hitting incredibly poor shots. Only Cowboy Roy ended up playing anywhere near his handicap, and that was because he made an amazing number of “he had no business of making that” putts. But we were all laughing so hard it didn’t matter.
The Cotton Baron was on his own little tree trimming program, knocking the branches and leaves off of countless oaks lining the fairways, and some pretty deep in the rough. He hit three trees on one hole, and hit one of them twice. The Chipping Lizard couldn’t chip. He also couldn’t drive or putt. Cowboy Gene was hitting it everywhere, and I not only couldn’t putt but I also hit more balls out of bounds than I had in months.
We finished the round in a little under four hours, and were mighty glad to see the 18th green. Only three of us were playing the hole by the time we reached the green. The other two had picked up after going O.B. I don’t think all five of us finished any of holes 14-18.
Norman Mailer is reputed to have said that we are either living a little more or dying a little bit each moment of our lives. Yesterday could have easily been a day of dying a little bit. Instead, we all lived a little more in spite of the weather and our play. Norman Mailer is the last person I would have thought of as a sports psychologist, but I think I’ll try to keep him in mind.
(Of course, it wasn’t so hard for Cowboy Roy. Those totally uncalled for lucky long bombs won him some skins and most of the wolf money.)