Hello Birdie

My sub-90 streak didn't hold up. Maybe it was the torrential rains that turned all the local courses into green sponges, but I just couldn't get it done. Shot 95 over the weekend and 93 today. I actually thought I had shot a 92, but the Defectress corrected me. In the league she used to belong to, players were required to keep the score of their playing partner. I guess it's a habit she can't break, so she kept my score without telling me till the end, when we compared scores. Which was fine. I actually didn't mind at all, since during the round I knew I had written a score wrong somewhere. She shot a 93 too, coincidentally.

It was a slowish round, through no fault of our own, so neither the Defectress nor I could really get our games going. There was plenty of time for chitchat, and I even snapped some pictures of a cute gaggle of goslings.

Right after seeing that bunch of baby birds, I shot a birdie on the par 3 we'd been waiting to tee off on. I think it's been 2 years since I shot a birdie. In the past, I wasn't a stranger to birdies, though I'd say we are really mere acquaintances, like I'm always happy to see them, but I don't expect them to come around with regularity.

In case you're wondering, the term "birdie" came about in 1899 when some guys were playing golf in New Jersey and one of them said "That was a bird of a shot," in response to someone's ball ending up so close to the cup that it would take only one shot under par to go in. Back then, "bird" was slang for anything excellent, and "birdie" became known as any hole-out with a shot under par. And of course, other terms fitting the bird theme followed, such as eagle and albatross.

I'm glad the term "birdie" was invented so long ago. Can you imagine if it was based on some of the slang words for "excellent" today? Then we'd be saying things like "Dang, missed my dopie by an inch!" or "What an awesome awesomie!" or "I've got a 10-foot sickie putt." I guess "sweetie" wouldn't be so bad, because then eagles and albatrosses could be marshmallows and caramels, or other words that fit the candy theme. Just wouldn't want the "sickie" theme, because golfers might say things like "I've got a great chance to puke" and you really wouldn't be sure whether that news was good or bad.

Yup, I Did It Again

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No, these are not trinary code numbers. These are the numbers of strokes over par that I shot on 18 holes, on 2 separate days at Pine Ridge, the tougher of the two golf courses that are within a 10-minute drive from my house. Each day, I totaled 17 strokes over par, for a score of 89 each time. This is the lowest score I have ever shot at this course. The first time was two days ago, and before that, 91 was the lowest. And that time, I had to play twice in a row to get there. Today, I didn't even have time to warm up and got to the tee with about 10 minutes to do some stretches. And I forgot to bring the laser rangefinder, but it turned out I did just fine without it.

I played with the Defectress and two LOLGs (little old lady golfers) who were both 80-plus years old. The Defectress isn't a spring chicken either. She just turned 60 last week, though she doesn't look a day over 50. I am 46, and people still say I look like I'm in my 30s. Although a teenage cashier at another golf course once asked me if I was a senior, so I guess it's all relative. Despite, their age, the LOLGs got around the course quickly, even though they didn't hit very far. I was quite impressed, actually, and I can only hope I am still swinging a club when I am their age.

Anyway, I was full of confidence from Sunday's record-breaking 89, and I had fixed something with my drive, so my big bopper tee shots were in full force. One of the LOLGs remarked, "Power is wasted on the young. It's when you're my age that you can really use it."

Miraculously, my putting was not pitiful. After the round, the Defectress told me that she'd been counting my putts, and I made only 14 putts on the front nine. Though I do recall three-putting more than once on, I guess I made up for it with one-putts. I got annoyed at one point when one of the LOLGs was standing in my line of sight on a putt, and then she moved just as I was about to take my shot. I actually said quite loudly, "Would you mind not moving, please?" And I felt instantly guilty, the way I do when I have to repeat something to my mother that she didn't hear the first time, and it always comes out sounding irritated. Of course I missed that putt.

On the next hole, I hit my drive into the rough, near a 100-yard marker post, inside the top of which a young bluebird was nesting. He poked his little head out, and just as I got out my phone camera and snapped a quick picture, he jumped out and flew away. After I took my shot and landed the green, I looked back and the bluebird was flying around, making figure-eights in the sky. He circled close, and I almost wondered if he was going to land on me. But I think he was just a curious bird, and a sign that I should take my focus off my score once in awhile and notice the pretty things in nature on the golf course.

But I do like scoring. In the dozens of times I have played Pine Ridge, I think I've parred every hole at one time or another. So I know shooting a scratch game is theoretically possible. But I am getting ahead of myself. For now, my immediate goal is to score consistently in the 80s, and maybe make a birdie once in awhile too.

What's in a Number?

Without a context, numbers don't mean much. Consider the number 89. As a weather temperature, it means balmy and warm. As a roast chicken temperature, it means a trip to the doctor for food poisoning. Eighty-nine happens to be the golf score I shot yesterday. It's not the lowest score I ever shot. (That was an 87.) But it is the lowest score I've shot in almost two years. Last week, I shot a 94, then a 93, and by the weekend I was determined to go sub-90.

I had a Sunday morning tee time with hubby at the harder of the two nearby public courses. I was feeling pretty good, despite a callous on my foot and some bruising from a stubbed toe. I decided to ride a cart with hubby to save my tootsies from unnecessary stress. It was Mother's Day, so the course was deserted, except for a fivesome of what appeared to be three moms and two dads, raucously enjoying a few child-free hours. At first I was annoyed that they played so slowly (and loudly). But then I decided to relax and enjoy the extra time.

Typically, I play as fast as possible. One's position on the course is directly behind the group ahead of you, as they say. But today, since hubby and I had lots of waiting time for the revelers ahead to clear, it meant I could take my time to do things like get target distances with our new laser rangefinder, take practice swings, and, most importantly, read putts.

Here's my technique for reading putts: I stand a few yards behind the ball and crouch down, analyzing how the green breaks, imagining how the ball will roll to the hole. Then I stand up and, without taking my eyes off the hole, take my stance behind the ball. My feet are not too wide apart, but not too narrow either. I look down and make sure the ball is slightly left of center in my stance, something that someone once told me I should do since I am right-eye dominant. Then, I look at the hole again and imagine the path the ball would take if it were rolling backward from the hole to where it is in my stance. I let my eyes follow the path slowly back and forth at least once, visualizing and ingraining the ball's path in my short-term memory. (This "tracking" technique is something I read about in a golf magazine once.) The last visualization is always a backtrack from the hole to the ball, and as my eyes meet the ball again, I take my putter smoothly back and forward and through. The whole process reminds me of a Newton's cradle, where my visualized energy somehow transfers to the ball, then the putter head, then back to the ball, so it moves exactly at the speed and trajectory that I visualized. I don't why this technique works for me, but it does -- when I put my mind to it.

Yesterday, I had more time than usual to put my mind to putting. And I think that's what helped me go low. I wasn't driving as far as I have in the past, but my chipping and putting held steady. As you can see by the scorecard, I had a string of bogeys on the front nine, with one double-bogey and a par. On the back nine, I had two double-bogeys, but made up for them with pars. (You can also see by the scorecard that hubby has much better handwriting than me. Compared to his neatly written symbols, my typical scorecard looks like a serial killer's victim count.)

On the last hole, a par 5, I got on in 4 strokes, and literally held my breath while making that last putt, knowing it could mean the difference between a nice 90 or an ecstatic 89. When I made the putt, I almost couldn't breathe. In the car, hubby showed me the scorecard and I saw that he also shot an 89. This is not a great score for him, since his record low is 79, and he typically shoots in the low 80s. If Martin Kaymer, who just won The Players tournament, shot an 89, he would probably hang up his clubs for good. But for me, 89 is an excellent score. Like I said, without a context, numbers don't mean much.

Saved by the Rain

It was a dark and stormy day. A tee shot rang out in the distance. I think you know where I'm going with this. Yup, that's right. My game got rained out today.

I had a 12:12 tee time at a certain local course, where I hadn't played since last year. Seri and two of her Korean gal pals were joining me. The course has an afternoon special going where you can get $10 off the fees, including cart, from noon till twilight. This didn't help me, since I was walking, but Seri and her friends all rode, so they got a bargain. Except for one of Seri's buddies who didn't speak English and got charged the regular rate. Seri's bilingual buddy had to translate the problem for the pro shop cashier, and I suspected he may have accidentally-on-purpose charged her the regular rate. In my past travels, as a tourist in China and other Asian countries, I would routinely get ripped off because I didn't speak the language, so I have no doubt it happens here in the US to non-English-speakers. But, at least Seri's other friend caught the "mistake" and they honored the correct price.

But I digress. I was talking about the rain. When I left the house, the forecast said there was a 30% chance of rain. When I checked the weather radar, there was a big green blob on the screen but it looked several hours away. I had done everything I could to prevent the rain. I brought my golf umbrella, which is usually a foolproof talisman against the rain. I left my sunglasses at home, which is typically a sure-fire harbinger of sunshine. To be on the safe side, I even wore my waterproof golf shoes and rainproof jacket.

As we stood on the first tee, the sky was covered in grey clouds that looked like someone let the stuffing out of a dirty old comforter. Seri and her Korean gal pals chatted incessantly, in their native language. Seri remarked that I couldn't understand Korean, but to no avail. They couldn't have cared less. I told Seri, "Don't worry, I don't mind the talking." Which was totally true. Sometimes I play better with the white noise of foreign chatter in the background.

After I blasted my first tee shot 185 yards, got on in 2, and two-putted for par, they seemed to quiet down. At least till the next hole, a par 3, where I teed off first and missed the green. They all made the green and the talking started up again, while they pretty easily made their pars. By the third hole, I could see where this was going. Seri's buddies were the kind of social but lethal Korean golfers I've seen before. These ladies, with their tech-fabric jackets and big-brimmed visors and gold-embroidered golf shoes, they are on the flashy side and strut around fairways like life is some big picnic. And it probably is for them, if they're anything like Seri and they golf nearly every day and don't have to work since their husbands are working in Korea and sending money to them so they can take care of the kids going to American schools. (Not that I am jealous. I mean, maybe the golfing daily part. But I would never want to be separated from hubby for even a day.) These kind of women act as if golf is just something to do while gossiping, and they hit short drives, but always seem to make par or bogey just out of natural habit.

One of these women was the same one Seri had told me about, who recently ruined Bea's game by too much talking, to the point where Bea blew up and scolded her with some harsh words. Afterwards, Seri had to make at least 10 phone calls to both parties just to do damage control. I suspected that I might encounter a similar fate, though I would never scold any of Seri's friends (nor would they understand me), but I might end up getting mightily annoyed. So as soon as I spotted raindrops on the flags, I started thinking about exit strategy.

After I triple-bogeyed the third hole, the rain thankfully became as incessant as the chatter, and I told Seri I was going to take a rain check. "The last time I played in the rain, I got sick for two weeks," I told her. And it was true. But she didn't seem that disappointed that I was quitting early. I think it was easier for her to not worry about me feeling left out.

As I made tracks for the clubhouse, the rain started to pour, and I was glad I'd brought that umbrella. The clubhouse was full of golfers waiting out the weather. I went up to the cashier, and I said, "You know how they say whenever you get your car washed, it rains the next day? Well, I washed my clubs last night." Which was true. I actually did give my clubs their annual scrub-down last night. And now I know never to go golfing after washing my clubs.

And I also learned that it's probably best to not to join Seri when she's playing with her socially lethal golf crew, because I can't always count on being saved by the rain.

A Needed Jolt

I swore I'd never do it, but I did it. I played a round using a laser rangefinder. I'd always been a non-techy kind of golfer, a "feel" player, someone who relied on eyesight and spatial sense to get around on the course. Or at least I always liked to think so. Hubby had long wanted to get a laser rangefinder, and I finally bought him one last Christmas, in a surgical strike shopping trip to Golf Galaxy when a coupon plus a rebate scored me the lowest possible price on the Bushnell Tour v3 Slope Edition with PinSeeker and JOLT technology. Since then, hubby played with it a few times. But I had never bothered with the thing till yesterday.

I've seen rangefinders you can wear as a watch or slip into your pocket. But this one is about the size of a juice box and has its own carrying case that you can clip onto your golf bag. It was pretty easy for me to whip it out before every shot without wasting time unnecessarily, especially when I was otherwise just waiting for someone else to take a shot.

I was playing with the Defectress from the ladies league, and we'd been joined by two 20-something guys, who I called "the future of the game," especially when the Defectress scoffed at their poor play and worse etiquette. "If that guy asks me one more time if he needs to mark his ball..." she complained. To which I replied, "I try to be nice to the beginners. After all, they're the future of the game." Also, I was happy not to be the worst of a foursome. It takes the pressure off.

I had noticed that the Defectress also uses a laser rangefinder, and her approach shots are eerily accurate, typically within feet, and sometimes inches, of the hole. She said she practices at a junky range where they have old tires set up to pitch into. Seri also uses a rangefinder, the GPS kind that she clips to her belt. Maybe subconsciously I knew that better players use rangefinders, since it's the next best thing to a caddy reading off calculated distances from a book of field notes.

I liked that the Bushnell Tour v3 Slope has an audible little jolt when you lock into a target. Also, it supposedly takes into account slope, so if you're aiming uphill or downhill, you'll get an accurate distance without needing the Pythagorean theorem.

Knowing distances with more accuracy definitely helped me in several instances on the course yesterday. Though I still had to execute the shot correctly (which I didn't always do), knowing the distance at least gave me an extra bit of confidence about my club selection.

The only thing the laser rangefinder can't do is spot blind targets. For instance, it would have been extremely useful to know that a certain fairway bunker was exactly at a distance where I typically land a 3-wood, had I actually been able to see the bunker.

Maybe the next thing the golf industry needs to invent is a laser rangefinder with X-ray technology.

Nay to the Wind

Spring finally sprang, and I've been out on the course at least once a week for the past month and a half. Nothing particularly memorable has happened during this time (that I can write about anyway). My scoring has stayed in the 90s, my driving is not quite back up to big bopper status but getting there, and my putting has been mostly pitiful.

Yesterday, hubby and I played a private club course situated in a valley where the wind from four corners seemed to have a regular rendezvous. This wasn't a mild breeze, but a whipping, constant 25-mile-an-hour wind, with gusts strong enough to blow the securely strapped baseball cap off my head. The pro shop guys described it as "links" golf, a term usually meant to describe a treeless, windy course near the coast. While this private course was miles from the beach, it did have few trees and a lot of wind, so much wind that I felt sun-burned and weather-beaten after our relatively short three-and-a-half hour round. We walked with three-wheel push carts, which were on the heavy side for me. In the bright sun and relentless winds and undulating hills that had unnecessarily lengthy walks between greens to tees, there were times I felt like a nomad on caravan traveling to the next hole.

Hubby says there is a Scottish saying, "Nay wind, nay golf," which basically means without wind, you're not playing golf. But I say nay to the wind. I prefer the kind of golf where the course has lots of trees to block the wind and offer shade when it gets hot, gently sloped fairways that don't make you feel like you're climbing Everest, and lush, green grass that makes you want to have a picnic -- in short, the kind of course that makes you feel like you're in a park. Appropriately enough, the official term for this type of course is a "parkland" course.

After our round, we were so tired and ravenous we could barely make it out to a local barbecue joint to refuel. Occasionally, a links-style course might be fun to play. I mean, the wind does keep the bugs away, and you really feel deserving of your post-round pig-out. But for my regular weekly rounds, I prefer the parkland.

Flagstick Popsicle

Golfed yesterday for the second time this year. The temps were high enough lately to melt the snow off 14 holes on the nearest course. I had a 10:46am tee time, and I was so excited I nearly gave myself a neck spasm. But I popped two Advils, calmed myself down, and went to go meet up with a golf gal pal, the woman I had met last year who had defected from the local ladies' league. I walked with my trusty old pull-cart, of course, and she walked with a fancy schmancy motorized cart. We were paired up with a married couple, a retired doctor and his close-to-retirement wife, also walkers. It was a relaxed round. Expectations were low, so any decent shot was met with ebullient cheers. We laughed at the second hole, where the flagstick was frozen into the ice-filled hole. If you could get it unstuck, it would look like a popsicle.

Many bunkers were still full of snow, and the water hazards were iced over enough that the geese could walk over them. In the end, I made only one par and bogeyed most. But I putted better than I thought I would. I drove okay, except for a two-hole slump on the back nine. I was exhausted, but in a good way. Can't wait to get out there and try again.