It was a glorious March day Sunday, with clear blue skies and temperatures in the mid-40s. So of course I went out to play a round of golf.
I’d like to say that I had a good time, but I really didn’t. I played poorly and the course was soaking wet, with every shot landing on ground that could reasonably be called “standing water.”
I should have know known that something was up when I called for a tee time and was told that the course was walking only. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because I always walk. But it’s clear that what the person at the desk was telling me is that it was too wet and muddy for the wheels to gain any traction.
My swing was a mess. I suppose that I should have expected that, since I really haven’t played any serious golf since September. But it’s disheartening to hit 180 yard drives and to leave every approach short of the green.
The worse part, however, was that what I thought would be a quick nine turned into a three hour nightmare. The course was filled with foursomes of Japanese, who turned out to be the slowest players on the planet. There were three groups of Japanese in front of me, and two behind. I was playing solo, so I made the most of the time, playing my own private four player scramble.
I really needed the practice. By the end of the round, I was beginning to hit some more solid shots, with some distance. But I’ve still got a lot of work to do. Some lessons are in order. And the sooner, the better.
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So that’s what soggy looks like.
That’s too bad. It’s actually a recurring nightmare of mine that—just as we get out of a long winter—I get injured and have to sit out the summer. Hope the foot boot isn’t on too long.
Had my first round Sunday as well. Don’t know about your course, but mine could have really used some green maintenance.
I think I recognize the Lake Forest silo in the distance.
I suffer the same affliction each Spring as described by Golf Blogger. After 3 to 4 months without touching a club, I am really uncoordinated and out of sync. Driving distance is abysmal, the irons are poorly struck, and my short game sucks. Deep despair sets in. The only conclusion is that my game is completely lost and I will never play well again.
Fortunately, a miracle occurs at some point each Spring and my forgotten skills return.
This year, unfortunately, is going to turn out to be different. We made a visit to the grandkids in Texas. I was able to play a couple rounds with our 14 year old grandson and right out of the box my play was very good. On the last evening in San Antonio we were kicking the soccer ball around in the back yard. A collision occurred, an awkward step was made, and now I am consigned to stumping around town in an orthopedic boot until my broken ankle heals. Sigh. I only wish I could slog around on the wet fairways of Lake Forest.