Golf Fore the Good

I went to bed last night with my hand shaped into a big “L” resting on my weary brow, stuck there I think, by the pollen that coated myself, my clubs, my bag and everything that has been out of doors in Georgia this week. Yes, folks, history was been made in Georgia yesterday afternoon, and not on the fairways of Augusta; my brother scored a victory in our first blood match of the week. We will return to the fairways today to continue the battle.

I have learned a few things about golf in Georgia this time of year:

I am sure the Master’s logo used to have a different color back ground. Someone had the good sense to tint the field yellow; it would soon be that color anyway with the amount of pollen billowing around.

Georgians have no idea what “cold” is. Yesterday we teed off in the low sixties with puffy clouds, peeks of blue (beyond the pollen haze) and a gentle breeze and finished up late in the day having enjoyed weather in the seventies. “Is it still really cold out?” a club employee questioned me. Huh?

The North and the South may well have fought the Civil War over grass. We have some in the winter and apparently they don’t. I thought we suffered some tight lies on our winter fairways until yesterday when I played on the dormant grass so common to golf courses down here. It’s like hitting a golf ball off a skim coat of plaster. Tricky, but I was getting the hang of it late on the back nine. Too late.

The shanks are not limited to any particular venue; I brought a whole bag full of them south with me; I’m hoping there are none left in my bag for today’s round. I loved the course but with it already playing long I really didn’t need to traverse it left to right in a haphazard zig-zaggy kind of way, like a wind up toy stuck going herky jerky in one direction circles. I vaguely remember the first maxim of golf: advanced the ball. That doesn’t mean “hit the ball sideways.”

A second maxim of golf: have fun! And that we will, off for another round.