At Paul's prodding, I'll pull up a stool and join the discussion, but in pursuit of my post-apocalyptic New Year's pledge to become kinder, gentler, more equanimous and less confrontational, I'll highlight only the positives - having already vented the dark side of the ledger on another thread. Last night, the Redhead poked her freckled finger at my sullen disposition of late and ordered me to curb my stream of choleric negativity.
Evidently, my moonless trough of judgmental animus is spilling over into her teacup of sunshine. I suggested that personality traits tend to exaggerate with age and reminded her Redness that she took the vows fully aware her spouse was hardly Fred Rogers. I'd hoped the Mayan Calendar would put humanity out of its misery, but as the new millennium brought Gangnam Style, another four years of that idiot and a realization that the Yips don't go away just because you putt left-handed, I'm forced to see it through to the bitter end.
It has been quite a while since I've looked at the black-ink side of the books, but just because I can look through a knothole at the verdant pastures of buoyant euphoria does not mean I can scale the barbed wire and actually join the party. With those caveats laid on the table, here goes:
What I "Like About Golf."
A quirky muni course.
Fairways of dormant Bermuda.
Tap-in birdies.
Southampton Windmills.
Names like The Valley of Sin.
Hottie, 40-something beer wenches.
Walking Only courses.
Downhill driving ranges.
A visit to an old favorite years later.
Late afternoon Skins Games.
Par-3 courses in tennis shoes with old buddies.
Brand new Soft-Spikes,
A freshening breeze off the North Sea.
Fuzzy Zoeller.
Watching The Masters in a comfy chair.
British commentators.
Watching Tiger finish 2nd in a Major.
First off on the Ocean Course with my best friend.
Playing a Redan for the first time.
A round and dinner with any of my old friends here.
George Bahto.
Finding a hidden gem.
Scratching up a hole with Neal.
Catching a tee shot right on the screws.
A pulled or pushed putt that somehow still drops.
A sandy par.
Being Dormie on the 14th tee.
Beating the snot out of somebody you think is an asshole.
Losing to an old friend who played their career round.
Making par out of nowhere.
Silly headcovers.
The wisdom of Sir Bob.
Baggy shorts full of tees, sand and ball markers.
Watching a young kid hit a great shot.
David Feherty.
Playing with an old couple who’ve been married forever.
An Irish Pitch & Putt.
A knock-down shot under the wind.
Bandon on a buddy trip.
Walking off dinner playing a Whiskey Route.
A Raynor course for the first time.
Talking a high-school kid through the strategy of their next shot.
Finding a sleeve of old balatas in the basement.
The smell of beeswax on persimmon.
A clean golf towel, fresh out of the dryer.
Broken-in Foot-Joys.
Finally playing a course on my bucket list.
Jan Stephenson, because I’ve still got a terrible crush on her.