Perpetual Break

The first shot of the morning, the tee shot. I’m stiff. Who has shown up today? The ball is in the fairway, not very far. Still, I look at my buddies with a smug expression. It’s important that I don’t suck in front of them.

I’m considering getting fit for new irons. There is always a little anxiety when you get fit for new clubs. This guy is so bad nothing is going to help. This isn’t a lesson.

I’ve worked hard on my swing for years. Just ask my wife.

I have a friend whose son played collegiate golf. He calls me Splash. Why? Bunker shot, I get out. It ain’t pretty, but I get out. Best compliment I’ve ever had.

That annoying, scared-of-everything voice is talking in my head. The one that’s telling me, don’t top this shot or your whole life will be a failure. He’s a hard one to shake. Just one clear-headed thought. I can’t do it. I’ve heard one of my golf buddies say that he doesn’t think swing thoughts. Doesn’t sound like that after he hits a bad shot.

This game always reminds me the train can jump the tracks with one swing. Or one thought.

Golf.