My playing season has gotten off to a slow start this year as family and work obligations have conspired to keep me off the course. As a result, I am feeling quite anxious. I got out for eighteen on a particularly warm day in March, and since then have played just two nines—both in my Friday golf league.
In spite of the crippling lack of playing time, however, I managed to shoot a 45 in league competition last night. My partner and I had to give 15 shots to the opposing team, but still managed to beat them 7 to 2 (My partner shot a 52 overall, but our opponents both shot in the 60s).
Without any time to practice or play, I’ve tried to keep my swing thoughts to a minimum: shorten the backswing and follow through.
It’s working so far. I hit six of nine fairways and six greens in regulation. My two massive failures—and where my score went up to 45—came on the par threes. I mishit both off the tee, and paid a heavy toll. My putting also is letting me down. I never, ever, three putt and yet last night, it seemed the rule. In my defense, though, my partner commented several times that the greenskeeper must have been hung over and constipated when he choose the day’s pin positions. It seemed as though each was cut on a ridge line—and in the worst possible corners of the green. Everyone was three- and sometimes four-putting. One of our opponents four putted from six feet—and I’m not sure I could have done better from his position.
Unfortunately, this next week doesn’t look any better than the last several. I’m hoping that I can get out for a quick nine after work on Thursday—or if things break extraordinarily well, on Monday. Barring that, I think I’ll try to spend some time at my local pro shop’s green with the putter.