Since I was a little boy in Uncle Dickie’s back yard, scratching at the ground with a recalcitrant nine iron trying to coax a golf ball to soar like an eagle, I have wanted to play good golf. Somewhere along the line I realized that this was going to be a lifetime endeavor for me.
I learned about ‘shooting your age’ somewhere in my twenties and thought that if someone actually reached the age of 70, after a wild and dissipated life filled with misadventures and abandoned hours puffing ‘weed’ . . well, I digress. Well, why would anyone want to shoot par 72 at age 72?
In the middle of my life I changed my mind and decided that when I reach 72 I would try to shoot 72 . . even par, even though I knew this would be akin to waking up as Bradley Cooper trysting with Lady Gaga. Well, perhaps I haven’t quite given up on that one yet, but it would be like being Burt Lancaster on the beach in From Here to Eternity.
So, the other day I was driving to Sacramento and, along the way, I stopped to play nine holes at Ashwood Golf Course in Apple Valley. They have three nine hole courses. Not a long course, but extremely strategic with lakes and bunkers everywhere. And, I might add, I have experienced every one of them.
So, I started on the Sycamore nine holes. I flubbed a drive about 150 yards in the middle of 7 giant sprinklers. I had to drive my cart through the sprinklers to retrieve my ball. However, I did hit it on the green and got down with two putts. On two I drove the ball directly into a bunker about two hundred yards away. I hate bunker shots from the middle of the fairway! But, I hit it to the edge of the green, chipped to within a foot of the hole, and got another par!
Hole number three was a short par 3, 160 yards. I pushed the shot to the right into an area under repair, got a free drop, chipped it to three feet. Another PAR!
Hole number four was 250 yards over a lake. So I took a six iron and went around it and ended up in a bunker on the right side of the green. I have been working on sand shots, so I promptly hit it over the green into the fringe . . so much for practice! But, then I chipped it to within a foot and got a bogey. One over par.
Well, the fifth hole is completely over water. Par 3. I hit it straight and putted it in. Birdie . . back to the ridiculous even par . . and over half way through the round. It has been a long time since I have prayed, but what the hell.
The sixth hole required a 150 yard shot to the right of a lake and another shot over the lake to an elevated green surrounded by two bunkers. The ball was sitting on hard sloping ground . . hard to hit, so I was worried. But I hit it straight to the middle of the green. Then I noticed that someone had come up behind me and was waiting impatiently for me to play faster. I tried to slow down and focus on the ball . . but, to no avail. I three putted. One over par.
I let the horrible, mean spirited golfer who undoubtedly was trying to ruin my game, play through. I tried to be civil; however, I think I did say something about his mother wearing combat boots. I knew that letting something play through usually ruins your rhythm because it breaks the concentration. But, it would give me a good excuse for failing to finish the round at EVEN PAR. I was one over.
The next hole I hit a five iron 180 yards and chipped a 7 iron to within five feet . . and sank the put for another birdie. Two birdies in a round is ridiculous. Maybe this was my day!
Only two holes left. If I could get pars, I would have shot even par for 9 holes . . a goal of a lifetime. If only Uncle Dickie were here.
Eight was a par 3 into the wind surrounded by water. The pin was 145 yards away and next to the lake. I hit my seven iron well, and it went to the middle of the green, held back by the wind, and rolled backwards about ten feet. I had a forty foot putt. I spent a lot of time looking it over and putted it to within a foot . . PAR again!
Now, if I could just par this last hole, it would be the round of a lifetime. A par four about 300 yards with very few obstacles on the right, but looking right into the sun. I hit a six iron to 110 yards. I took out a pitching wedge, couldn’t see the green because of the sun, but hit it pretty well. When I arrived at the green, the ball was nowhere to be found. I checked every bunker, behind the green, around the mounds that surrounded the right side . . and there, in a gully, about 20 yards from the green was the flippant sphere, daring me to attain this ‘goal of a lifetime’. It was surly, smirking, laughing at my predicament. Laser focused, I took on my Bradley Cooper persona, and with my pitching wedge I hit it to within 2 ½ feet of the hole.
I stood over the ball. Knowing that if I sank that put, I would be recognized in the firmament as having attained the unattainable. I got so nervous I backed off and made believe I was reanalyzing my short put. I stepped up and sank it. Zut Alors! Even par for nine holes! The goal of a lifetime!
Then I loaded my clubs back in the car, changed out of my golf shoes, checked my phone for messages and got back in my car, heading off to do all the other things that a golf god has to do to live in this world.