There are days, many days, when I don’t understand why I try to play the game.
Then there are days like Thursday.
Continue readingThere are days, many days, when I don’t understand why I try to play the game.
Then there are days like Thursday.
Continue readingFunny game, golf.
Continue readingA few minutes past 2:00 PM, there was little reason to believe we’d be getting a round in on Friday. In fact, any sane person would have scanned the ominous sky and headed for home. But golfers, it seems, are not entirely sane.
Continue readingTough it was, nearly a physical burden, to answer the bell on Saturday morning.
Continue readingI’ve been feeling an odd sort of pressure for the past day or two – a compulsion to write something beautiful about Dad.
Continue readingGolf may perhaps be more than a game – at least in the case of my weak-willed spirit.
For golf, it seems, has a way of teaching me about certain spiritual defects, such as vanity.
Here’s a great irony: I love to play a game – golf – that I am only marginally competent at playing.
And then there’s this: With each passing year, it seems, I surrender a bit more of my (already congenitally-limited) skills to time’s relentless march.
The chance to play a mid-winter round of golf stirred up some fretfulness in me, I noticed. Continue reading
The ‘gimmes’ flowed freely in my foursome at the golf league the other night.
It’s a pretty safe bet that Gerri did not expect we’d spend our 38th anniversary on a golf course.