Golf Fore the Good

OK, so a Debbie Reynolds I’m not. I am not terrifically graceful, as one might guess from my often out of tempo golf swing. This particular day seemed in some way out of kilter as well, and therefore proved perfectly suited for me and my golf game.

The golf was hurry-up-and-wait, so agonizingly slow that, had I been playing poorly, I might have tried blaming it on the pace of play. Nor was the weather anything to dance and sing about. There was, at best, a heavy mist in the air; at worst, a light shower spitting out of the steel gray sky. Somehow, none of it mattered, wedged in as we were in the middle of the second 18 holes of a huge group of transients playing a thirty six hole tournament. It was one of those rare days that any golf would be better than no golf at all.

My friend and I figured what the heck; we’d keep our tee time despite the clogged fairways and dismal forecast.

It was the kind of afternoon when swinging a golf club was simply the right thing to do. After all it was Friday, and on Friday we play golf - period. It was much too gloomy to inspire us to come up with a more creative plan. We teed off knowing that it was unlikely we would get in a full nine holes either before the skies opened or, with the slow crawl out on the course, we’d see day turn to dusk.

That’s why every good municipal golf course needs a mini-loop, some sort of easy escape route for the times when five holes of golf take nearly two hours to play. We planned from the first hole, as we counted carts stacking up in front of us, that we’d walk off after five and hoped only that we’d stay dry until then.

On a gorgeous summer day, when only a complete round will do, the pace would have been maddening. Yet my friend and I went out for a few holes with our eyes wide open, knowing the course conditions, and with nothing better to do. We chatted amicably, not just between ourselves, but with the two to three groups on every tee (did I mention they were all transients playing a thirty six hole tournament?).

We were a lone twosome, playing a few holes just for fun, as well as the only females on the course. It was therefore a bit unexpected when the foursome in front of us asked if we’d like to play through. “To where?” we queried. Perhaps they didn’t want two ladies hanging around critiquing their tee shots; maybe they were just trying to be courteous; in any case, there was nowhere to go, so we thanked them politely and declined.

I was relaxed and happy, which is absolutely, indisputably, the best way to play golf. Over the years, much of my best golf has been played in the late afternoon, in casual pick up rounds when there is no pressure, no leader board, and no expectations. At those times, I am out on the course for no other reason but to spend time among friends, to idle away a few hours doing something I love.

An hour and forty five minutes after we teed off we putted out on the fifth hole and veered off to the clubhouse. It had been a long but satisfying few holes, filling an afternoon with the pleasure of time spent on a golf course. What could have been tedious had proven to be an unexpected delight, and pretty much the best golf I am capable of playing.

Heading toward five o’clock with the skies now prematurely dark and no less threatening than earlier in the day, and the last of the transients finally out of the way, the first tee was empty and beckoning. There was time for a mini-mini loop - one and two - and a few more blows with our clubs.

As we neared the number two green for the second time that day, it started to pour, and we knew just how lucky we were. Luckier than a bounce over a sand trap; luckier than a thirty foot putt dropping to save par; luckier than anyone who’d never had the pleasure of a few holes of golf and an opportunity to walk through the green. We were lucky enough to enjoy seven holes of golf and to have a friend to play with. Now that’s something to sing about.