Thursday, February 11, 2010

Two Kinds of People

You'd like to think people are basically all the same, that whole love-your-brother thing, but really? There are truly only 2 kinds of people, people who prefer the stupid animal with the empty eyes and the idiot stare, and those who go for the dog.

Some causes are too important not to participate in.
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Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.


The Golf Trip

Every April for the past 20 or so years, I've headed for Kiawah Island, South Carolina for that last great bastion of male camaraderie, the golf trip. Same guys, same courses, nothing much changed from year to year.

Perfect doesn't much call for alterations.

Well, chalk up another victim of the great recession. I had to do something prudent and surrender my place.

Here's a brief excerpt from the book:

We head out in two vans and immediately fall into the comfortable and well-worn routines guaranteed to wind each other up and get the taunts flying. Roger’s quite sure I’ve neglected to procure a wide enough variety of non-alcoholic beverages—he has amassed seven years of sobriety and can somehow maintain it around us during this week of nearly indiscriminant consumption. I play the indignant and unappreciated martyr. Gary goes as the pious reformed one as he outlines the dietary restrictions brought on by—count ‘em--five coronary vessels having been rootered and rerouted just three months prior. Kevin, too good-natured to take an unprovoked swing, says laughing, “Golf trip.”

Each day passes in a blissful blur. We wake up at 7, pull out at 8, tee up at 9, lunch at 1, watch The Masters until 6, dine at 8, and call it a night by 11. Gone is any evidence of the outrageous behavior that once threatened life and limb, frightening woman and children---condo wars with rooftop maneuvers by commandos armed with quart-sized water balloons, one a.m. golf missions that left a tee box badly disfigured, indoor freestyle climbing of walls, fireplaces, ledges et al, and Guts games where small fortunes changed hands. John Madden faithfully brings the cards and chips each year but I’ll be surprised if they even make it out of the case. 

I won't be there to see if they do or not. We're having a west coast, tee-it-up-at-Rancho golf trip this year.

Rub Of The Green by Brock Walsh will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.


Tuesday, February 9, 2010

What's Your Quest?

Every golfer has a goal. Breaking 100 is a fairly common place to start. With a little persistence, most of us get there. But as soon as you do, ninety raises its head and whistles. Hey, you! You want a piece of me?

With every golf goal met another is born.

What is it about golf that keeps urging us to improve? People who play pickup basketball don't towel off and start figuring their field goal percentage. They have a beer and agree to meet same time next week. 

Before you even make your way to the first tee, you reach into that wooden box and----

Today, just as I have for years, I’ll take a fresh scorecard, carefully fold and crease it, pencil my initials and enter my scores. I’ll circle the pars and, if I’m lucky, etch a neat tiny triangle around the birdies. When the last putt rolls in, I’ll sum up and write down a total. And like always, perched in the upper right hand corner will be that number that seems forever out of reach. You know the one I mean--even when you’re not looking at it directly you see it out of the corner of your eye . . . like Venus.  
Par? In 43 years of playing golf, I’ve never done it.

That's right, 90 fell and 80 beckoned. And when 80 finally toppled over, par was waiting, smirking and too smug to waste its breath on a whistle.

So what's your goal? Have you already crashed through or are you stuck in a rut? I'd love to hear your story.

From Rub Of The Green
by Brock Walsh which will, with a little luck, appear in bookstores soon.