Nothing But Love :: golf blogger

Golf on the 4th of July

I was invited to play golf. July 4th. I should have declined; but being the idiot that I am, I said I'd be there. Golf on the Fourth of July is an adventure because the course is always jammed with those who think that it would be a good idea to try to play golf on a holiday. And that's why I should have declined.

I won't use that as an excuse for my lousy play because I started off like I was trying to play golf on a holiday, fitting right in with all the others not playing in my foursome. But I've been off to bad starts before and have righted myself and played very well; I figured that this would be no exception to that rule. Except it was. But I didn't know that on the seventh hole because I hit an awesome drive on the 365-yard, par-4 and was just short of the small pond on the left side of the fairway, about 70 yards from the hole. I didn't see any smoke. But an acrid smell, plastic and metal, burned my throat and nose. My eyes began to water; my nose started running like a faucet; I coughed uncontrollably, my lungs revolting against me.

The rest of my foursome was over on the other side of the fairway and 40 to 50 yards behind me; they were apparently unaffected, hitting their shots, two of which found the green, one rolling up to and past the hole, coming to rest several feet away from the flag stick.

I should have waited. My eyes were flooded, and I couldn't breath, the coughing not as bad as it had been just moments earlier. The next swing was not pretty, and it did not come close to accomplishing the task at hand. Three guys on the next green, a three-par hole, over to my left, laughed. Coincidental, I thought; and I didn't look so that I could continue to believe that. I lofted the next one onto the green, putted twice for a bogey, adding another "+1" to the card, which was better than the three "+2's," but of no help to my psyche, and moved on to the next tee, just as John calmly rolled his short putt into the middle of the hole for a birdie. I had to smile because he was putting much better since the lesson I gave him last weekend, and I hacked out a "nice putt" to him, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"That smell isn't bothering you guys?" I asked. They replied that it wasn't that bad, Greg adding that I could be playing much worse. Funny guy. Of course, John had just returned to level par and Greg and Dave were within a couple strokes of that.

I couldn't even claim that even though I didn't play very well, I enjoyed the fresh air and exercise. I parred the next hole, then stuck one deep into the woods on my drive on the ninth hole, setting me up for an 8. Greg was leaving after 9 for a picnic; so I didn't feel like a quitter by leaving at that point and getting home early, driving with the windows down, hoping to purge my respiratory system of aromatic hydrocarbons and heavy metals.

Posted by Bill at July 6, 2008 10:12 PM