I got some birthday money from the wife’s family on Sunday, and I was anxious to do some golfing. I debated on how I should spend the money, which totaled $60. Combined with a previous $4 that I had, it was a whopping $64 in mad money. That could buy me quite a few rounds of golf…but it could also buy me an oversize driver, something I have wanted for quite some time. I have grown sick of borrowing other people’s drivers on the tee box. After realizing that I would not have this sort of expendable windfall for quite some time (anything over $40 is a windfall to me), I decided to shop for a driver. Wal*Mart is the store of choice because…well…everything is moronically cheap there, so I stopped on my way to work Monday and picked out the Dunlop Super Loco 456cc driver.
The reason I picked the Dunlop? Well, I trust Dunlop. They are not the best, but they are also reasonable quality for the price. The club was $45, which was smack dab in the middle for all the oversize drivers they offered. Also…to be completely honest…it looks fucking awesome. It’s got real purddy colors and a siqq headcover. The shaft is blue and yellow and it has a very nice Winn grip.
So I, excitedly, take my new club up to the check out. I grab a Dasani, because it is hot out, and head to the open Self Check Out lane. Pay up and head out to the car. Alex and I were planning on playing 9 on my lunch break. Do I have enough cash leftover to play Rolling Knolls?
Wait a minute…how much cash do I have left anyway? $4? What? Oh shit. I am a dumbass. I had $9 in change sitting back at the checkout. I hustled back in to find someone had already claimed it their own, and that the proletariat working the self check outs could not be of any assistance, as noone had “turned it in.” Great. Now, not only can I not afford to go to a place where I can swing my new club…I cannot afford to golf at all.
I called Alex and informed him of my folly, and he offers to foot the rest of the bill for Apple Orchard, which I gladly accepted.
Orchard was PACKED. There were 4 groups ahead of us, and they all moved excruciatingly slow.
Alex opened up with a very nice par. He followed up with a bogey, double, bogey, and was +4 after 4. I opened up with a retarded triple bogey and then an even more retarded quadruple bogey. I, then, settled down on the 3rd hole and put up one of those good old conventional bogeys. The fourth hole is the silly 80 yard number that is the exact perfect distance for my sand wedge. Alex, who lead by 5 strokes after 3 holes, did not have honors for the first time of the day. My tee shot was on line, but because of the elevated bunker, you cannot tell until you get up there. When we got up there, I was surprised to find myself 4 feet away from my first hole in one.
I putted in for a nice birdie. Alex’s bogey helped me pick up 2 strokes on one hole. I was feeling good going into the 5th hole, but that feel good feeling was fleeting, as I shanked my 6 iron into the woods off of the tee two times. I gave up after a few more miscues and followed up my birdie 2 with a fucking 10.
I was all over the map through the first 5 holes, and my performance on the last 4 would only further my anger and bewilderment, as I would go on to bogey the 6th and par the last 3 holes. I cannot recall ever stringing together three pars in a row. My late resurgence tied in nicely with Alex playing a little shaky, and we ended up tying at 41. So, I walked back to the car juxtapositioning my feelings of confidence with feelings of angst. 7 stupid strokes. Had I just put up fives on the 2nd and 5th holes, I would have had a career best 34.
I was happy to finish up so strong…but still pissed about that goddamn 10.