May 1, 2009

“I find it impossible to believe that the last two shots both came out of the same club.”

Ahhh…golf.  We could write editions of “They Said It” for the next several years just on the comments heard on the links.

Like so many others who only play on occasion, the five or six good shots that I hit during a round of golf are pictures of beauty.  Incredibly, the last time I played, six consecutive good shots established a personal best.  For that brief period of time, the game took on a new dimension for me.  There must have been some sort of correlation between the hot dog at the turn (it was the best dog I’ve ever had) and the brilliant, though quite temporary, golf that followed.  

My cart partner for this round was a long-term friend.  Few minutes elapse when we are together that we don’t take the time to poke fun.  Just after finishing the hot dog - but just prior to its beneficial magic taking effect - I hit one of the ugliest five-iron shots in recorded golf history.  Shortly after hitting it, I knew that I would be hitting the same club again.  The ball hadn’t gone far enough to switch clubs.  Yes, it was that pitiful.

It was then that the apparent prestidigitation occurred.  The next shot was the antipode of its predecessor.  Leaving the five-iron with a heavenly sound, my ball followed a near perfect flight path toward the pin, stopping a few short feet from the hole.  Before I could even begin to relish in the glory of my newfound game, my dear friend, Bob Fisher intoned, “I find it impossible to believe that the last two shots both came out of the same club.”

And so it is.  In golf and in life, we are never as bad as our worst shots and not nearly as good as our best. 

May 1, 2009