Waiting For The Other Spiked Shoe to Drop.

My grandfather recently graciously gave me his set of golf clubs that he doesn't use anymore. They are quality Tommy Armour clubs that are far nicer than my game deserves. When it comes to golf I have always been more Hulk Hogan than Ben Hogan. Now, after a day at the range and playing 18 holes, I am convinced my grandfather sent me magic clubs. I finished today's round with four pars and a birdie. This is like Paris Hilton scoring 1400 on her SATs. Granted, we were playing at shabby, short Horsebridge, but did you hear me? Four pars and a birdie! And the bird was even on a par four. Drive 30 yds short of the green, chip to within 6 feet of the cup and sink the putt. That's exactly how I usually play that hole except for the ten minutes I usually spend in the corn field searching for my errant drive, the ensuing wild approach shot that screams over the green into the woods on the other side and the three putt from 15 feet. Other than that it's exactly the same. Just as a good craftsman never blames his tools, a poor craftsman must credit his tools when he turns in some fine workmanship. These clubs are great. Of course, actually rotating your hips and keeping your lead arm straight doesn't hurt either.

So what's the problem? Why do I sense that other shoe hovering overhead? Because the golf gods hate me, that's why. Mr. Optimism here is convinced that the gods are toying with me. They let me have just enough success today to lure me back for another round. They are waiting for my next venture so they can crush my newfound confidence. They will howl with glee when I stub a chip shot three feet or blow a six foot putt ten feet past the hole. That's why I love golf and why I hate golf. You can hit a fantastic shot that feels so good and the next minute you can botch the hole with such an unbelievably poor shot that it makes you want to punch yourself in the nuts just to forget the pain. You get just enough taste of fun to tempt you back. Damn you golf gods! Oh, and I'll see you next week.