Even a blind pig will find an acorn now and then, they say...and that is what impels me to continue to play golf.
Almost forty-five years of frustration, and I’m still looking for that Elusive Acorn.
Got a whiff of it last Sunday. I played the best round of my life, somehow managing to avoid minor disasters and Major Screw-Ups. No lost balls. Lotta good, solid tee shots and crisp long irons.
It’s mere preparation for this weekend’s annual Golfy Marathon, which will find me (along with seven other like-minded idiots) in various places in Alabama, flailing away at the Little White Pill.
Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. That would make me certifiable: I play golf over and over again, expecting to shoot a magnificent round. Or at least, a halfway decent one. But I can smell the faint aroma of that Elusive Acorn, just pungent enough to keep me coming back for more.
Wish me luck, Esteemed Readers. I’ll need it.
Update: Sunday evening. Just got home. Ninety holes in three days of mid- to upper-90’s temperatures. Shoot me now.
(Seriously, it was fun...but exhausting. Thank goodness we had plenty of “Scottish Advil” with us.)
Almost forty-five years of frustration, and I’m still looking for that Elusive Acorn.
Got a whiff of it last Sunday. I played the best round of my life, somehow managing to avoid minor disasters and Major Screw-Ups. No lost balls. Lotta good, solid tee shots and crisp long irons.
It’s mere preparation for this weekend’s annual Golfy Marathon, which will find me (along with seven other like-minded idiots) in various places in Alabama, flailing away at the Little White Pill.
Albert Einstein once defined insanity as doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. That would make me certifiable: I play golf over and over again, expecting to shoot a magnificent round. Or at least, a halfway decent one. But I can smell the faint aroma of that Elusive Acorn, just pungent enough to keep me coming back for more.
Wish me luck, Esteemed Readers. I’ll need it.
Update: Sunday evening. Just got home. Ninety holes in three days of mid- to upper-90’s temperatures. Shoot me now.
(Seriously, it was fun...but exhausting. Thank goodness we had plenty of “Scottish Advil” with us.)
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