How to Turn an 89 into a 93

Wednesday was the first time I kept score all season. Bea and I had a 12:46pm tee time at Pine Ridge. I went early to warm up and hit balls on the range. When I first started playing golf, I used to get a large bucket and finish it in within two hours. I would barely break a sweat. Then came the “injury,” and since then, a medium bucket is the most I will ask my back to bear at the range. It’s different on the course, where I hit the equivalent of a medium bucket, but spread it over four or five hours with lots of walking in between.

For the past couple of weeks, I’ve been feeling stronger, due to pilates-based physical therapy. So I thought, a small bucket before a round couldn’t hurt. In fact, it helped. I drive my first tee ball nicely into the fairway, instead of left into the woods like I usually do. I ended up with bogey on the hole, instead of my typical “just warming up” double bogey.

I shot 9 over par on the first half. I had a birdie chance on a par 3 but blew it by rushing the tap-in. I turned another makeable par 3 into a 4 by missing a 6-incher. Bea thinks not making short putts is a mental problem. I think she’s projecting. I don’t think I have a putting any more than the typical golfer. I think the problem is the unpredictable, and sometimes downright crappy, greens on local munis. God bless the public, but they don’t fix their ball marks, so half the time, I am bent over with my divot tool stuck in the dirt. A seemingly well-read putt can turn into a surprise ending caused by the scar of an old unrepaired ball mark.

Anyway, I was focused on holding steady on the back nine. Seven holes passed in the blink of an eye, and I was 8 over. Then I made par on the 17^th. (It was a par 3 and I landed the green for a 10-foot birdie putt but the ball didn’t break toward the water, like everyone always says it does.) All I had to do was par the last hole to shoot 89, and break my course record of 90.

But the last hole is a par 5, and I teed off into the right rough. I thought I was done for. Miraculously, I pured my 3-wood to within 125 yards of the pin. That’s where I had to make a choice. 

The approach was an uphill shot, and the pin beckoned like a lighthouse at the top, guarded by a steep bunker. I knew it was a sucker pin placement. I could have laid up with an easy 6-iron, then chipped it close and made par. But I thought, why not go for the green? If I took enough club, I thought for sure I could make it over. I took my 7-wood, which I had been puring stick straight all day. I took the shot and heard that wonderful sound of solid contact. For a glorious long time, it looked like the ball would make it. Then, at the last second, plunk! The ball hit the green grassy lip of the bunker and tumbled in. It had to be no more than 6 inches short of victory. 

So there I was, three shots into the bunker. I could still get up and down to save par. I wedged out, but only to the outside of the bunker. Then, with the pin so close, I hit a tepid chip which landed only to the fringe of the green. I ended up skulling that chip and sent the ball to the far side of the dance floor. From there it was not one, but three putts to sink the darn ball. Defeated, I cursed, and I didn’t care who was listening. 

In the end, I shot a godforsaken 93. I was quite annoyed with myself. But then I remembered, once upon a time and not too long ago, I would have been ecstatic with a 93. And my thoughts turned to when I could schedule my next tee time to try again.

Later, I thought about whether I should have played it safe and laid up. There are many areas of life where I play it safe – I drive defensively, invest conservatively, save money as if it will rain every day. But in love and golf, the great games of life, it’s better to take all the chances you can get, because the rewards of winning are always far better than the risks of losing. Or maybe I really am just a sucker.