Thursday, May 17, 2012

There’s always a moment, roughly one to two seconds long, when I will click on the local 5-day forecast and hope for terrible weather–the overcast, rainy affairs that would justify some power napping or gaming. I’ve been thoroughly disappointed in this regard, though, with a recent rash of warm, sunny days that demand physical activity. For me, this doesn’t translate into a drive to the beach, or team sports of any stripe. No, it means golf, where people engage in the collective act of solitary suffering.

My own suffering has decreased somewhat. You’ll recall a recent breakthrough, wherein a reliable swing availed itself to me. With my first full round just around the corner, some additional range time is in order for this weekend, and I’m dreading the possibility of reaching into my golf bag and discovering, much to my dismay, that I’ve lost this newfound skill.

But let’s assume my swing is intact. There is still the issue of putting. I remember when I briefly tasted proficiency, a few months ago. Now, I’m having trouble reclaiming any of the secret sauce. I will watch in wonder as peers sink them from what seems like miles away, no doubt aided by witchcraft or other unholy pacts. Meanwhile, I’m adrift without a rudder, and it feels like I’m wielding a dowsing rod instead of a putter, desperately searching not for water, but competency.