"Self Torture Run Amuck.."

In my youth my Dad was fond of repeatedly saying "There comes a time when beating your head against a brick wall should be a good indication to stop doing that!" Sage advice that in my adult years I have applied to many situations in which it became obvious to me that the intended outcome of a particular endeavor required I chart a new course toward achievement. Applied to many situations, but not all... I still play golf.

I ventured out onto the links again today and I give thanks that I don't play this infernal game for a living!

Rather than just sit home and feel sorry for myself these past eight months while I have been unemployed, I have endeavored to play at least one round of golf every week. The fellowship with my friends has been very rewarding, as has the enjoyment I have derived from being out in the beautiful Florida countryside. Believe me, while playing many a round of golf I have found myself in places in the Florida countryside where Lewis & Clark wouldn't dare have ventured.

In the majority of endeavors if one diligently practices a craft one can safely predict a measurable degree of improvement. Then again there are always exceptions to every rule. I am a case in point. This not to say that I haven't made some noticeable strides...I have. I can now on a consistent basis strike the ball, propel it precipitously forward and have it land somewhere in the same postal zip code. That's not to say that in my attempt to retrieve my last shot will I have any success in locating it. Nevertheless, my level of consistency is indeed improving, but comparatively speaking it would be akin to a high wire artist saying that he doesn't fall off the wire as much any more. Perfection is the name of the game and I am far, far from perfect.

Today's round was an exercise in endurance. My drives off the tee were erratic, my short game was all but non-existent and my putting left much to be desired. I need to either switch putters or purchase a larger purse. I could probably putt the ball better with a Louie Baton handbag than I do with the implement designed for that purpose. My playing partner, who always insist on driving the cart, again mimicked a French cabdriver, weaving and bouncing all over the course at breakneck speed from one destination to the next until finally we'd come to a skidding halt and I would jump out and kiss the turf.

Still, during the course of the round today, I did manage to string together a couple of memorable shots that aided my team as opposed to having them roll around in gales of laughter. And that, as any golfer will tell you, is all that it takes...that one or two shots that would make any professional proud and serves to kick into a full dream state rationalization the persistent thought, "Hey...if I can keep this up I can get pretty good at this game." It's the lie I have told myself over and over again...and the lie I will keep telling myself until I can no longer hoist my golf bag across my shoulders.

If you'll excuse me, I need to call the club and arrange for my next tee time.