The Longest Closest to the Pin Ever

My golf buddy Jen invited me to the annual GBBR Golf Outing at Piney Branch. It was a fun day in the sun, and they served both lunch and dinner. The 1pm shotgun start meant I didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn, too. The format was supposed to be “best ball,” where everyone plays their own ball and records the lowest player’s score for each hole as the team score, but the starter announced something about everyone hitting their tee shots, choosing the best position, then playing their own ball from there. That sounded awfully familiar to the “bramble” format I had played recently, but I had just eaten a hot dog and was still savoring the aftertaste, so my mind was elsewhere.

Turns out that Jen and I did play the wrong format – everyone else played the “scramble” format, where each player on the team moves their ball to the best position on each stroke till everyone holes out, but they were calling this format “best ball.” Really, it should have just been “prison rules” for the tournament, with all the confusion. But that didn’t stop us from winning both women’s prizes. Jen won women's “longest drive” by blasting a 200-plus yard bullet on a long rollercoaster fairway. And I won women's “closest to the pin” with a much less impressive shot that landed 47 feet and 9 inches from the pin on a par 3. It was so far from the flag that at first I wondered if I should even mark it, but I did, mainly because I had never used one of those funky, old-school tape measuring devices that they’d left on the side of the green, and I was curious to see how it worked.

At the awards dinner, I was truly surprised when they announced my name. Jen and I both won gift certificates at the pro shop for our efforts. The toughest part was finding merch to spend it on. I must have tried on every cute top in the shop, and finally found an Under Armor sleeveless polo that fit me.

But even though I won a prize, the shot I was really proud of that day involved hitting my 7-utility hybrid brazenly through a stand of trees:

My ball shot like a rocket through two trees and skipped onto the green, rolling just a few feet over and into the rough. It was a risky shot, but it felt sublime to see my ball go just where I aimed it. And that was its own reward.

Dude Looks Like a Lady

It's hard enough to hit a golf ball wearing golf shoes. Try doing it wearing a pair of high heels. That's exactly what I did this afternoon at the High Heels for Hope Long Drive Competition benefiting the House of Ruth. The event took place at the Pine Ridge driving range. For $5 a ball or $20 for five balls, men and women alike teed up to support a great cause. Some highlights:

Hmm, looks like somebody needs to shave?

Or, maybe not.

Shoes courtesy of DSW.

Nice finish!

People lined up for the chance to hit balls wearing high heels.

Wedges don't count, but it's nice to support the charity.

Knee-highs are optional.

I brought my own shoes and didn't fall over.

I knew I wouldn't win this competition, since 220 yards was the woman's yardage to beat. But it was a novelty to try hitting a ball in heels. It's actually a lot harder that you'd think. But then again, I find just walking in high heels a tough task. Hubby was going to do it, too, but he tweaked something in his back the last time we golfed. Likely excuse. Well, maybe we can try again next year!

You Never Forget Your First Time

The first time I ever played a full 18 holes, I shot a 128. That was years ago, and I remember thinking how shooting 100 seemed impossible. But I did it. The first time I shot 100 was at The Crossings in Carlsbad, CA. Hubby and I played with a retired man and his middle-aged son, who were very nice, relaxed, chill kind of people. After we were done, a staffer at the golf course asked me how I did, and I said, “I just shot the lowest score of my life.” He looked at me like I must have broken 70 or something. Little did he know that 100 was the lowest score of my life at that time.

Today, 90 is the lowest score of my life. That’s right. I shot a 90 today, all by myself. (The 90 I shot when I played the bramble format at the Martha's Place charity tournament doesn’t count since I was assisted by hubby’s monster driving on some of the holes.) Over the past few months, I have been shooting in the high 90s, and once shot 94, but I was wondering when I would ever shoot lower than that. Turns out today was the day.

The location of this feat was Fox Hollow, which has become my favorite course. It’s where I shot a hole-in-one-last October, on the same day I shot a 99 and first broke 100. And now, it’s where breaking 90 will be my goal. My playing partners were Debbie Harry and Dodi, who are both super laid-back, good vibe kind of people. But out of sheer coincidence, the same OMG from last week joined us. He did some irritating things, including smoking a lot and marking my ball with a wooden tee, without my permission, when I couldn’t get to the green fast enough, but I returned the favor when I took the flag out of the hole on one of his long putts, and he wanted it to stay in (but really, you’re supposed to take the pin out once everyone is on the green anyway).

And, I am not ashamed to admit that I rode a cart today (or “rode the wagon” as Dodi likes to say). It is easier to play golf when sweat isn’t pouring into your eyes. Other thoughts: Driver wasn’t great, but it didn’t suck completely. I have learned when to hit my hybrid and when to leave the 7-wood in the bag. Also, even when I didn’t make greens in regulation, wedging it close to the hole and one-putting is just as good.

Here, for posterity, my scorecard:

In case you're wondering, the numbers in the first row of my scorecard are my "distances from the pin" on each tee shot. I put an X when my drive sucks so bad I don't bother recording it. Later, I subtract this number from the hole's yardage to get an approximation of how far I hit each drive. I put this number on the bottom row. The tick marks in the second row represent each shot I take to get on or near the green, unless it's a par 3 and I can keep track in my head. On par 3s, I also write "on" or "off" or "bunk" to indicate whether I made it on or off the green, or landed in the sand. 

I usually tally the front 9 before proceeding to the back 9, but today, I didn't want to put pressure on myself, so I waited till I got home to add it all up. I was pretty sure I did well (for me) since I didn't have any 8's on my card, and only one 7. 

90 is better than I expected for today. A lot better. I am happy tonight. And I will remember this day for a long time.

 

Can't Touch This

So last Friday, Debbie Harry and I hit the links. We were paired up with an OMG who I actually played with once before. I recognized his pale bare legs, saggy black socks, knee brace, and tan cap bearing the logo of the financial services company he worked for. He recognized me, also. The last time we played, I remember him asking me if I worked, and when I said I did, he didn’t have much more to say to me. I guess if a woman works, it means her husband isn't rich enough to be schmooze-worthy as a client.

Anyway, the OMG seemed cheerful enough this time, realizing that the inevitable replay with a stranger would happen in Small-timore County. A fourth person joined us, a quiet guy from New Jersey in town for a conference. He teed off from the blues, and OMG, who teed off from much shorter yellow tees was on his best behavior. Then the Jersey guy had to leave early, and that’s when OMG started touching our balls.

The first time, Debbie Harry was the victim. She hit a putt and it looked like it was rolling fast past the hole, so the OMG stuck his foot out to stop it. Now the rules of golf say that if you accidentally deflect or stop an opponent’s ball, there is no penalty, but it’s a whole different matter if you do it on purpose. In that case, the perpetrator incurs a two-stroke penalty, loses a hole in match play, or even gets disqualified. Not that we were in competition, but it’s always good practice to play as if you are. Just like it’s always good practice to have your seat belt on just in case you’re in an accident.

Anyway, Debbie Harry was polite about it and just smiled the way you’d smile at your pervy old grandpa if he tried to grab your ass. But I stared aghast at the OMG as if he had just picked his nose in front of us. Not that he noticed because a few holes later, when my ball rolled into a shallow divot, he went right over, picked it up, and tossed it a few feet away into a greener piece of fairway. I made a joke about it, saying, “Hmmm, looks like my ball was moved by an outside agency. Guess I’ll have to play it as it lies.” But secretly I was pretty annoyed.   

I don’t know what it’s like for men to play alone with other men, but somehow when women are around, all the usual rules seem to go out the window and we lose the right to play the ball as it lies. Perhaps OMG wanted us to speed up our play, or perhaps he thought he was making it “easier” on us. But making golf easier to play is beside the point. It's like making a Rubik’s cube with the same color on all sides.  

So for all the well-meaning OMGs out there, here’s some advice: Before you touch a woman’s ball, stop and ask yourself, would you touch another man’s ball? At the very least, please ask permission first.