because you just never know what's going to happen. Yesterday afternoon I was playing solo and did well on 10-18 (shot 42; started back 9 first), but stumbled badly with the driver on 1-8; had 40 going into #9. Don't screw this last one up too bad, and you can break 90 for the 3rd time.
So I get to the #9 tee. The hole is a dogleg right with a bunker just at the farside of the turn. If I hit driver, I go in the bunker, so I always hit 3 wood on this hole. Don't go left: trees, don't go right: OB in the backyards of the houses.
Just as I am pulling my 3 wood and psyching myself up, I hear these shrill voices yelling: Hey, mister! Are you winning?
I look up and there are 3 kids about 10-12 years old fishing in the pond adjacent to the tee. Being a nice guy, I reply that I am just playing for fun today.
Hit it good, mister! Hey, mister, I'm retarded!
Hmm, that's an odd thing to say. Kid looks OK, but you never know.
Now I'm looking down the fairway, picking my spot and visualizing a good swing.
Hey, mister! I'm retarded! Yoo-hoo! Bet you can't hit it! Etc.,etc.,etc.
About this time I figure out that I'm being had by these little bastards. If that pond wasn't in the way, I would probably go over there and imprint Hogan on the sides of their pointy little heads.
Never mind, make a good swing. Just as I am in the middle of my backswing, they start up yelling again. Miss it! Yow-eee!
I hit a nice high, draw that unfortunately turned into a hook after about 150 yards and ended up way in the trees on the left. Took 2 to get out of the woods: pitched to 10', and 2 putted for double. 46 + 42 = 88.
OK, but still leaving shots on the course.
I really don't know how the pros manage to block out all of the extraneous bullshit that goes on around them. Eldricks dad had the right idea, training him to block out the crap. My hat's off to all of them.
We are having a Hooter's Tournement on this course in 6 weeks: I wonder if those kids will be out there again?
So I get to the #9 tee. The hole is a dogleg right with a bunker just at the farside of the turn. If I hit driver, I go in the bunker, so I always hit 3 wood on this hole. Don't go left: trees, don't go right: OB in the backyards of the houses.
Just as I am pulling my 3 wood and psyching myself up, I hear these shrill voices yelling: Hey, mister! Are you winning?
I look up and there are 3 kids about 10-12 years old fishing in the pond adjacent to the tee. Being a nice guy, I reply that I am just playing for fun today.
Hit it good, mister! Hey, mister, I'm retarded!
Hmm, that's an odd thing to say. Kid looks OK, but you never know.
Now I'm looking down the fairway, picking my spot and visualizing a good swing.
Hey, mister! I'm retarded! Yoo-hoo! Bet you can't hit it! Etc.,etc.,etc.
About this time I figure out that I'm being had by these little bastards. If that pond wasn't in the way, I would probably go over there and imprint Hogan on the sides of their pointy little heads.
Never mind, make a good swing. Just as I am in the middle of my backswing, they start up yelling again. Miss it! Yow-eee!
I hit a nice high, draw that unfortunately turned into a hook after about 150 yards and ended up way in the trees on the left. Took 2 to get out of the woods: pitched to 10', and 2 putted for double. 46 + 42 = 88.
OK, but still leaving shots on the course.
I really don't know how the pros manage to block out all of the extraneous bullshit that goes on around them. Eldricks dad had the right idea, training him to block out the crap. My hat's off to all of them.
We are having a Hooter's Tournement on this course in 6 weeks: I wonder if those kids will be out there again?