Except for one disaster hole where the wheels not only fell off but rolled away in all directions while the body of the wagon crashed to the ground, the horses galloped off and the camera rolled throughout, last night went well. I bettered my best score on the Gold 9 at Emerald Greens by 3 strokes (the counter stops for people with my enormous handicap at 10 strokes per hole), lost two balls, found two.
I was a happy hooker for sure, though. At one hole I put it all the way across the adjoining fairway. My recovery shot was good, though, and I hit my next shots well also, and ended up with a triple. It could have been much worse.
Golf at times is like riding a three-part seesaw. You have a long game, a mid-iron game, and a short game. Now that my mid-irons are coming along (at the end of the season, of course), my short game is faltering. I twice missed putts of under two feet.
But, apparently my new rules for playing (see yesterday) are paying off. Too bad I didn't learn them at the start of the league.
Oh, and on the 9th hole last night, my playing partners--Ron, Tom and Neil--finally made comments on my form. It turns out they think I'm not playing the ball far enough forward, and I always aim right. Setting up according to the trio, my drive on the 9th tee went straight down the middle; my second shot ended up about 30 feet short; I bumped over on my chip, but ended up with a 5 on a par 4, so I was happy. Then I asked them, "Why'd you wait so long to comment?"