Back nine finally! 8/10/20

It was hot and humid, I was hungry and a bit tired from too many night-audits, but, ever the enthusiastic (some might say masochistic) duffer I hoisted the sticks into my car and bumped my way on Orchard Street to the glamorous and exclusive Brattleboro Country Club to fight my way through another round of bad golf. Stopped at the Dunk on the way for a couple of sausage-egg-cheese wraps and a chilly ice coffee to gird my loins (an odd expression, that; it apparently is biblical in origin and means to tuck your long tunic into a belt, or girdle, so that the tunic doesn't get in the way of your upper legs and torso (your loins) when you fight Biblical enemies. Now you know.) And off to the course I sped. 

Finally got to play the back 9. Usually I prefer the front, despite the demonous, hateful 2nd hole, but I haven't played the back in a while, so I trundled in my cart up to the gold (for wussies and old men) tee box and set to. 

The 10th hole is one I've had some success with, even a par or two (actually just one, now that I think about it) It's a long (492-yeard) par 5. The description on the website advises the player to "grip it and rip it." So I gripped, got ready to rip, took a mighty swing and popped it up about 40 yards just shy of the out of bounds on the right. Meh. (By the way, a good friend of mine just bought a house right there on Upper Dummerston Rd overlooking the 10th fairway. She's already found balls on the property.) I glanced around me and determined that absolutely no-one was looking, called it a mulligan and gripped and ripped again. This time it went a good distance and pretty straight and I felt good about myself. (This good feeling would not last long.) Puttered up in cart to ball and got ready to grip and rip a second shot over the high spot on the fairway where, if you hit it right, it rolls down to a nice place for a tasty wedge to the green. The rip turned into a flop, my mighty swing with the 5-iron went about 40 feet, bouncing apologetically. Damn. Pulled my 5-hybrid out of the bag and tried again, and this one was sturdy and got me about 40 yards short of the green. Wedge shot flew left of the green into some long rough. First wedge out of the rough went just under three feet. (Oooo I hate when that happens!)  Finally got it on the green with the next chip, but these greens were just aerated last week and have millions of little holes in them and they are dry and very very fast, so my ball ended up far from the objective. Took me three putts to sink the damn thing for a shameful nine. Not an auspicious start, and in retrospect I probably shouldn't have thrown my putter into the road, hitting a car and causing a terrible accident, killing four. Next time I'll control myself. 

11 is the evil Mt. K2, which is the second tallest mountain in the world after Everest. I vividly remember this hole when playing with my Dad when I was but a strapping teen. I disliked this hole then and I still dislike it and have had a number of embarrassing battles with it. This time, though, I hit it good off the tee then a good second shot which put me just left of the green. Damn! Hit a good pitch and got it just short of the green. Not bad!  Maybe I don't suck so bad after all! I took my wedge and my putter out of the bag and approached the ball. Hm. I was just shy of the apron and the grass is very short already here just shy of the green. What to do? Looked at my wedge and it blushed and looked away, still feeling bad about the last chip failure. So I laid it on the ground and gripped my putter, channeled Phil and putted it beautifully just a few inches from the hole. Popped it in for a bogey, which on this hole is a serious victory. Woo-hoo!

12 is a nice straight par 4, 376 yds. The website warns you not to go left here, so of course my tee shot went left, which makes for a tricky approach. My first attempt went sharply and horridly to the right, so that was a practice shot, and the next one was good and got me just shy of the green. A decent chip and a couple of putts gave me a bogey, sort of, if you don't count that practice shot, which I never, ever do. I replaced my putter in that bag, and it looked wrong, so I counted my clubs and realized I had left my wedge just shy of the hole on 11 where I decided to use the putter. Stupid. Not the first time I have done this. So I had to drive all the way back to the top of 12 and retrieve my wedge, which was feeling forlorn (can you blame it?) There was a witness, someone in the middle of the fairway of 12, who saw me pick up my poor wedge. I gave him a little wave, and I think he was far enough away that he wouldn't be able to identify me and mock me later. 

13 is a quirky par 3, you shoot from high up, across a strange swale (dig that golf lingo?) towards a raised green. Club selection is kind of important, since when you hit from the pussy gold tee like I do the yardage isn't very far but there's that stupid swale to get across. But hey, I hit a good  7-iron right onto the green. Such a good shot I absolutely had to 3-putt but came away with a bogey. So, if you're keeping score with me, that's one total disaster then three bogies consecutively in a row. Hellz yeah! Who says this game is hard? 

14, it got hard. (That's what she said heh-heh.) This is a somewhat evil hole that the first time I played it with my trasonous former golf-buddy Adam he neglected to tell me about the festering swamp just over the rise, which you can't see when you're lining up your second shot, which is exactly where I hit it. You still owe me a ball for that one, pal. Hit a pretty good tee shot then a bad second shot then another bad 3rd shot and I'm still pretty far from the stupid green. Tried to 9-iron it to the green but it went right, just barely avoiding the dreadful bunker right of the green. Chipped long onto the green, putted over and over and over and finally drained the bitch for a mediocre 7. 

15 is a pretty, classic hole, the website calls it "robust with a generous landing area." Somehow I always seem to miss that landing area. Yesterday I took out my driver, thinking with such a generous landing area this once I can try my driver. After my tee shot sailed right, arcing, soaring right, curving, curving, curving and landing way off the generous landing area, I swore to myself that I am never going to use my driver again in my life. I just can't control it; it's hopeless. I'm going to take it out of my bag and leave it at home next time; that'll teach it. I decided to take a Mulligan and try again with my Dad's trusty 5-fairway-wood that isn't wood. Missed the generous landing area again, this time to the left. Hit a good second shot but then my putter failed me (again) and ended up with a six. Not counting the Mulligan. 

16 is another quirky par 3. Chose a 6-iron, which is a bit conservative for this hole, especially when you suck like I do. I think, I have to give this a good swat to make it to the green with the 6, so I give it a good swat and hit a mewling, pathetic pop fly that barely makes it out of the tee box.. Fuckitty fuck fuck fuck, I say, then grab the 5-iron and hit it well just shy of the green. Short game failed me again and could only manage a sad 5. 

17 is interesting, a pretty flowing downhill the first half, then a decent second shot will put you close to the green. So I tee off, using my Dad's old 3-wood, which is actually made of wood, and which has been giving me some grief this year, until now! Hit a majestic shot with the wooden wood, just where you want it, in the narrowing part of the fairway to the left. You have to be very careful here,  because on the right side of the fairway there is a huge mound, a little hill, perhaps an ancient Abenaki burial mound? There's definitely ghosts there. I hit my second shot and it slices right toward that hill. You don't want to go there, it's covered in long grass and it's a terrible thing. Sure enough, that's the direction my balls goes. Damn. But I think maybe I hit it hard enough to get it over the mound, and sure enough, there's my little white orb sitting happily just 20 yards short of the green. I had cleared the mound and the thing had rolled most amiably right where I wanted it. Unfortunately I flailed about trying to get it into the cup and had to settle for a double-bogey 6. 

18 is a nice par 4, kind of pretty, trees on the left, some mounds and gullys on the right, with an evil bunker protecting the green. I used Dad's 3-wood again and once again it obliged me with a long, straight drive right down Broadway. Nice. Good second shot, On the green in 3, two putts and I finish with a bogey. 

So an about-average round for me, some excellent shots, some truly putrid ones, ended with my version of a 51, which is about normal for me, and not my worst result for those back 9. Decided to forgo the Tanq and tonic, because you can't sit at the bar because you might give the barmaid some dreadful disease, and you have to sit by yourself at a table on the deck, which is ok for eavesdropping (I overheard a conversation a few weeks ago about my Dad and how he had an affair with Barbara the owner of the nice ladies-clothing store, which he did; she was also my Mom's best friend until, um, she wasn't, so that was amusing. Good to hear that Pops is still the subject of catty Brattleboro gossip after all these years.) But this day I just wanted to get home and drain a cold Heineken and take a shower and wash all those terrible chip shots off me. 

Cheerio until the next chapter from your bad Bratt golfer!