Failed Quest for Par

Small eighteen hole course outside of Albany.  Decided to play nine because it was nearly 4pm and apparently it gets dark around 5pm around here.  Note: this is the country (to me, the country is suburbs of a small city) and dark means pitch dark; I’m talking can’t find my way off the course dark; I’m talking scared I am going to be bagged and tagged by a lurking serial killer dark; freaking crickets chirping and I can see the planetoid Pluto dark.  Anyway, the lady who we paid (as you will see, I don’t play golf so I have no idea what you would call this lady if there is a fancy name I’m supposed to call her --- I considered making something up here like “lodge assistant” or “caddy-wench,” but thought that’s what parenthesis are for) said we should be able to blow through nine holes, no problem, but eighteen would be pushing it.  Did she think she was talking to Jack Nicklaus (decided to go with the Columbus, Ohio reference in lieu of the Black reference here) and Jumbo Ozaki?  No she’s talking to shank/slice master and a guy who literally dug a ditch trying to get the ball off the tee.  We pushed nine holes and only finished seven.

Well, we, and “we” is Kenji and I incase you didn’t catch the obnoxious “Jumbo” reference (yes, I googled famous Japanese golfers), played seven holes and the results were less than stellar.  Less-than-stellar is actually a deliberate yet gross understatement.  It is early and I have not had coffee so I cannot come up with a way to succinctly say that most of my seven-stroke holes fail to even have a description – i.e. my seven stroke holes cannot even be labeled “triple-bogey” – which is three stokes over par.  Nope, no – it was, for the most part, a three-par course.  Seriously, it is the type of course where a good amateur could give Tiger Woods a run for his money. 

I mean even I hit the green a couple of times – yes, literally TWO; a good player should go green-putt-birdie, green-putt-birdie – whereas, I go: whiff-whiff-slice-reset; whiff-scrape the top of the ball-break the tee-reset; shank-shank-fairway-over the green-green-putt-putt-putt-quadruple bogey. Hole-in-ones are mere Eagles; thus, Albatross (double-eagle/three strokes under par) and Condor (triple-eagle) are mere words that kids of this region may never incorporate into their vocabulary much less accomplish; I doubt I will ever even dream about sinking something in the Aves class of phylum – perhaps a passenger pigeon (RIP Martha!) one day.

Anyway, I suck at golf.  If there is a silver-lining, it is that I now know that I suck and that I should promptly add learning golf to my to-do list.  I am also very glad I have never successfully organized a driving-range date.  That would have been a certain LAST date.  I will be attending the driving range alone this winter, sorry ladies. 

Highlights 

My best shot: Hit right outside the green on the drive

Kenji’s best shot: two feet from the hole – he blew the birdie

Worst shot aka most awesome shot: drove ball so hard into a tree it almost came back to me; I think I heard the tree say ouch

Best hole: Kenji actually won the quest for par, the bastard birdied a hole

Most lost balls: Easily Kenji, he sliced several into the woods

Post-script:  I’ve posted the scorecard below.  It reflects that we attempted the back-nine.  We got a slightly later start, played a little better, but spent the extra time photographing the spectacle – thus, we only completed six holes instead of seven.

 

Distance	120	150	150	220	150	145	130	285	335
Par	3	3	3	3	3	3	3	4	4
Kenji	5	5	6	4	2	8	4	---	---
Craig	4	7	7	10	7	8	4	---	---

 

Distance	150	115	150	110	120	115	155	185	285
Par	3	3	3	3	3	3	3	4	4
Kenji	5	3	5	4	3	3	---	---	---
Craig	6	7	6	5	5	7	---	---	---