Golfers, even woeful hacks like me, should never let cobwebs grow on their golf bag. And yet they have. We haven’t played since we moved into the new house, so at least two years. And maybe closer to three. Who can say?
But we have the opportunity next month to play on a course of some fabled significance and we are now working under the impression that a few short rounds between now and then at the local municipal course will improve our game to simply galling.
So we asked a friend of ours — when he met each of us separately, introduced himself by asking if we golfed — to walk nine with us today. He’s probably one of the better duffers in town and, maybe, it’ll rub off on us.
You can pay for golf lessons, but simple instructions go just as far for people like me — the guy who can hit most every stick in his bag, just never on command. I noticed … come to think of it … that he spent more time coaching The Yankee than he did with me. But I did get some nice putting advice. Nicklaus knows I need it.
Now The Yankee …
We’ll, she’s just naturally athletic. Good at everything. Check her out on the seventh hole:
