Golf Fore the Good

It came to my attention recently that our venerable golf committee at Dennis Pines Golf Course is seeking to name a little piece of our revered course, along the likes of the way Amen Corner conveys the spirit of eleven, twelve and thirteen at Augusta National. No sooner had we read the sign on the suggestion box than from my companion’s lips sprung the only words I can see fitting. “Carol’s Corner,” he said, and just like that, no matter what the final decision of the committee, those holes will forever be, to me, just that.

If you are unfamiliar with the history and the legacy that is Dennis Pines you might consider this submission a contrite version of Augusta’s moniker. If, however, you’ve spent anytime golfing in the area, I think you’ll agree the term is respectfully and unquestionably fitting, in memory of one of the Pines’ most devoted stewards. Carol Haberl was the face of Dennis Pines for decades and we miss her sorely.

There is something magical about one’s first love. It may not be everlasting; it may not be the truest; it may not be everything you find you need or want; but it is always and forever special.

The first championship golf course at which I obtained a membership, and the years I spent playing there, stand out in my memory as an exceptional time and place in my life. Just as St. Andrews is looked upon as the home of golf itself, my golfing life was undeniably begun at a fair little municipal course I will never forget.

This romance began very casually, as golf, or so I thought then, was nothing to be taken seriously. I surely didn’t see it coming – a hard and fast relationship with a game that would wholly steal my heart.

A Golfer’s Prayer:

Golf Gods, I am on the Tee

(think: “Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep”)

God gods, I am on the tee
Please guide my round and steady me.

Should I double on my card,
score the next no worse than par.

Guard my ball on it’s sure flight,
Make each approach shot pure and tight.

And when I’ve holed my final shot
Let all the bad strokes be forgot.

With localized thunderstorms keeping me away from the golf course, I spent a good portion of the weekend watching the Olympic trials for the US gymnastics teams on TV. I guess you’d call those kids professional amateurs. Now, what they were doing creates some pressure; playing a casual round of golf with your friends… not so much. Whether we score a prefect round or not, it just doesn’t make much never mind. Not a one of the amateur golfers I know will be going to the Olympics.

Mid-handicappers often tend to forget we play the game for fun. Those niners, well, surely they must grow frustrated with not reaching a hundred and ten yard par three in regulation, but you rarely hear them complaining about their game. It is what it is. Super-low handicappers might get a little aggravated when they blow up and perhaps, let’s say, double a hole, but most of them get it back on track quickly; which is exactly why they are as good as they are. They leave the bad stuff behind.

“Random birdies,” my fellow competitor termed them. “Random birdies are good,” she declared as her ball hit the pin and rattled down into the cup for birdie on the 14th hole to take the lead – and the eventual win – of the club championship.

It is the random nature of golf that is one of the most fascinating aspects of the game. The unpredictability of our swings, for better or worse; the arbitrary bounce our ball may take, for good or bad. Despite what the uninitiated may think, golf is never boring.

The shots we, as amateur golfers, manufacture on the course may not be quite the double-fist-pumping-Tigeresque-dramatic moments we have often witnessed, but they are, for us, still extraordinary events.