No one sets out purposely to offend the golfing gods. But unfortunately, sometimes it just happens.
I’m very conscious of staying in the good graces of these capricious demi-deities. I try to pay homage to them, by sacrificing more than my fair share of (usually new) golf balls in at least one water hazard at each course I play. Making my obeisance in the sand is a ritual part of any trip to the links. Tees, I donate by the dozen.
But sometimes, no matter how hard you try to appease the golfing divinities, you still manage to get on their bad side. Like I did last night.
Thursdays, as you may remember, are my golf league nights. Those evenings, when I get to spend a few blissful hours out swinging my clubs in the company of the always-entertaining lady Gofers, are my favorite night of the week. My partners in crime for last night’s outing were Belinda and Lisa, and I was indeed looking forward to the occasion.
I arrived at Canasawacta at the pre-arranged time (4:45 p.m.), ready and raring to go. Unfortunately, it was already pretty backed up at the first tee, as the rest of our league jockeyed to get out at the same time. Thankfully Belinda, who had arrived before me, was on top of it. She’d already cleared it with the helpful young man in the pro shop for us to jump ahead to hole 5, thus circumventing the congestion. And as soon as Lisa pulled up, we were off.
My drive off 5 was picture perfect. So perfect, in fact, that I should have immediately sensed something was drastically wrong. But I chose, instead, to revel in my far-too-infrequent fairway shot. I finished the hole well too, just further lulling myself into a false sense of security. After an almost equally beautiful drive on 6, I was feeling no pain. In fact, after my second shot put with me within sneezing distance of the green, I was ready to start gloating.
And that, my friends, is when it all fell apart.
I couldn’t sink a put to save my life. It was so bad that for a moment, I actually considered someone had played some slick jokes with magnets. But no. It was just me. And the golfing gods.
And, it only went down hill from there. I saw parts of that course that I never new existed. Most of them wooded.
The saddest part is that I dragged Lisa right down with me. Personally, I think she was trying to make me feel better. Honestly, I don’t think there was tree on that course that one of us didn’t hit. Thank goodness wood nymphs are only a myth, because if they did exist, they wouldn’t have been pleased.
Belinda, on the other hand, found it hysterical.
Of course, she wasn’t hitting any trees.
She did refrain, however, from making any “tree” wood jokes in my presence, for which I am eternally grateful. Although that was, obviously, the only club I had in my bag last night.
By the time I got back to the car, I’d decided it was high time I stopped relying on the fickle nature of the golfing gods.
Perhaps, instead, I’ll make use of those golf lessons my mom so generously gifted me for my birthday.
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