Sunday, August 23, 2015
Monday, August 17, 2015
Maine is the least population-dense state in the whole eastern part of this country. It is a lot of coastline and open space and not a lot of people. Which translates into tons of lobster for everyone, as well as a good pace of play on the golf course. I'm hoping at least.
Thursday, August 13, 2015
Friday, August 7, 2015
Split Rock is one of my earliest golf memories in New York City. It was ten years ago that my old college buddy Chris and I mutually decided that the time had come for us to take up golf.
Tuesday, July 28, 2015
While the rest of the world frolics in the summer sun, my golf game exists in a state of hibernation. Actually there's a word for hibernation in the summer: estivation. Whatever. Subsisting on a meager diet of range balls, doled out in sad little portions, I conserve energy and lie in wait for the temperature to drop below 40ºF, at which time I'll come to life again. But just so I don't completely lose touch with the world of organized golf, I will make a grudging visit to a course, kind of like a half-hearted Protestant dragging his ass to church on Easter or Christmas.
Thursday, July 16, 2015
Thursday, July 9, 2015
I have been wandering, exploring the various planes of existence, both high and low. I am adrift in three-dimensional space, searching for a (swing) path that will ultimately lead me home.
It is lonely and desolate out here in space. Carding 18-hole scores is something from a past life. Now, I am an apparition drifting from abstract theory to abstract theory, no golf course to call home.
Recently I got a text from the real world. It was my friend Arnold asking me to play some pre-holiday golf. I said no at first, because I am in the middle of trying to change my perception of the golf swing and probably would represent a hazard to others on a golf course. But he begged and pleaded, so I caved.