Twelve Holes of Golf!

Sunday. For twelve holes, I was playing golf. I mean really playing the game.

Don't worry, I'm not going to bother you with the details, only the highlights.

After two holes, I was two under. After five, three under. After nine, one under. After twelve, two under.

Okay, I do have to tell you about my shot on eleven. It's a short par 3 over water. My friends hate the hole but I love it. I could have put my first born through college on the money I've won on that hole.

On Sunday, I aimed my nine iron about ten feet right of the pin, since it was cut on the left edge of the green, close to the water on the left. I pulled the shot, but only slightly... right at the flag. The ball landed four feet behind the flag and sucked back to two inches from the hole!

It was that kind of day. Or more precisely, that kind of twelve.

Because over the final six holes the wheels fell off and I gave back ten shots to par to shoot 80.

I hate to shoot 80 and above. For some unknown reason - and I do mean unknown because I've tried to figure it out but haven't come up with a valid reason - I think of a round less than 80 as a good round, and anything 80 and above as poor.

So after playing those first twelve holes so well and those last six so poorly - and especially after striking my fifteen foot bogey putt on 18 (my putt for a 79) right at the hole only to have it hit the back of the hole and stay out - after that you'd think I'd be ready to put my clubs in the corner of my garage and give it up for six months.

But I'm not. Oh I was disappointed after the round, but surprisingly, not all that much. The poor golf that I played over the last six holes was overshadowed by the exceptional golf I'd played for the first twelve.

Not only was I not ready to give it up, I was ready to go out for more - to find the magic that was there and that I know still is there - to be found again. And soon. Maybe this weekend!

Golf. What a game!