Playing Golf: Where's the Hole?

I finally got to play with my Monday night golf league. About time. The league started back at the beginning of April, but between rain-outs, having company, being out of town, and life in general, I haven’t managed to get out there, that is until this Monday.

The upside of Monday evening was I got to meet some of the ladies in the league. The downside was I played like…well, I don’t know what I played like. My game defies description. Suffice it to say, I could not find the holes. I had little or no trouble getting to the greens, but I couldn’t sink a putt to save my soul. On at least two holes, I putted past the cup at least four times. The ball always rolling within a inch of the edge of the cup and then coming to rest at least three or four feet past the cup. Often farther. You could almost see the ball smirking. It eventually became a joke. A twisted, painful joke.

I wish I could blame it on the gal in our foursome who was so slow she all but went backward. Truly. She was a sweet lady, but she’d obviously did not subscribe to the concept of ready golf. Slow to get out of the cart. Slow to get to her ball (often without a club). I swear, I never saw her move faster than a mosey, and she took multiple practice swings on every shot. Personally, I think there ought to be an iron-clad rule that any golfer who takes more than one practice swing  before a shot is instantly vaporized. But I digress.

As frustrating as it was to lose sight of the foursome in front of us and to be pushed by the foursome behind us, I can’t blame Pokey McPokerson. Well, actually, I can blame her for making us take nearly three hours to play nine holes, but I can’t blame her for my poor performance. I just sucked. And the really sad thing is I can’t wait to get back out there. Why is that? What is it about golf that makes a person want to go out and publicly humiliate herself over and over again? Six years ago, I wouldn’t have played a round of golf at gunpoint, and now I’m salivating to be on a course every chance I get. It’s a disease.

I’m guessing my performance on Monday night made quite a first impression on the other women in the league. If it didn’t–if they missed seeing me play–the score I had to post in the clubhouse will certainly WOW them. They’ll be fighting over who gets to play with me. Groan.