I got out to play 18 yesterday at my home course, Green Oaks in Ypsilanti, Michigan.
I love playing in the fall. With temperatures in the 50s, few people were out. I got in 18 holes in one hour and 50 minutes. Shot an 88. My score would have been much lower but for a meltdown on the par three fifteenth. I hit a tree branch on the way in, which deflected my shot deep left into the treeline. It took me two shots to get out of that; the first was to get from behind a tree trunk and the second to get back to the fairway. Still 120 out, I underclubbed and buried under the lip of the fronting bunker. Two shots out of the bunker. Two putts. An eight.
That seems to be the story of my golf life. I would regularly shoot in the low 80s — and probably break 80 on a regular basis were it not for one or two holes where the wheels just completely come off.