Yesterday's round 8/20/20

 Sucked. No other word for it, it sucked. I stink. I'm the worst golfer ever to trundle around the planet in a $10 golf cart. It seems that whenever I go to pick up my clubs I can see them cringe, wondering what embarrassment is going to befall them today. Perfectly nice clubs, too, pity that their life is so unfulfilling. 

A bit bored with my home course in Brattleboro, I decided to go to the Hooper Golf Course in Walpole, NH.

 

It's  a nice course that I've played a number of times, designed by the same dude who did the Brattleboro Country Club in 1914. No, actually, not true, thank you Mr. Internet, the Bratt course was designed by an individual named Tom McNamara, then redesigned in 1930 by the great Wayne Stiles, keeping only one of McNamara's original nine (the now defunct old first hole starting right at the Clubhouse and going along the driveway. That hole was discarded when the course was expanded to 18.) Stiles built Hooper in 1926, so it predates BCC. 

Curiously, "Stiles" in old English meant "steep uphill path," which is apt when you've struggled with the K2 11th hole that goes up into the clouds so that you need oxygen and sherpas by the time you hit the green.

But I digress. So I get to Hooper, it's a beautiful day and I'm feeling cheerful anticipating a pleasant round on this lovely day in these wonderful surroundings. 

First hole is a shortish par 5. From the tee box you look out over a wide expanse, raised on the right where it merges with the 9th fairway, but then falling off precipitously off to the left, into the woods. There's a foursome about ready to play so they tell me to go ahead. Which always makes me shaky, because I don't relish teeing off with anyone watching except for Calvin and Adam. So I grip my dad's old wood 3-wood and give it a rip. Of course, it flies off to the left and disappears behind the precipice. "Shoot," I say, or something to that effect. I don't like the shot, but I've got these four dudes waiting to go so I certainly can't take a Mulligan, which I would normally have done. So I go trundling off in my cart to find my ball, which I already know will be a vain effort. 

Yep. Ball's gone. So I drop another one in approximately where I think the ball should have been, perhaps adding another 10 or 20 yards or so. The green's still pretty far away, and blind over a big hillock. I hit a 5-hybrid to try and get some distance, and hit it well. It takes off on a speedy low trajectory, whistling through the summer air. I hit it good and hard and it was going fast. I worried that maybe I'd overshot, and sure enough when I get greenside the stupid ball's nowhere to be seen. My theory is, actually, that I hit it so hard it is still going. I mean that thing was cruising. It is still in flight. Let's say it was going 80 mph. So in 12.969 days someone standing by that first green had better duck, because my ball is going to conk them in the back of the head. Maybe I should go to the course on Sept 2 at about 3pm and shout "Fore!"

Second hole is a little annoying, long and narrow with a strip of trees on the right where even now a couple of my balls are lying there rotting from last year. I choose my 3-iron, which I like off the tee when I want it to go straight, and it often obliges me. Yesterday it looped off to the left but still in the game, not a bad shot. I get on the tee with a chance to bogey, then destroy that chance with a couple bad putts. Four times yesterday a putt looked fine, and I shouted "GET IN THE HOLE!!" and the damn thing spun around the rim and took off in the wrong direction, Looks like one of those gravity slingshot effects where a spaceship uses a planet's gravity to increase speed around a planet. Four times it happened yesterday. Thrice plus one. (What's the four-times equivalent of "thrice?" Fourice?)

So I walk away from the 2nd a little dejected. This day isn't unfolding as I had hoped. Visualizing the round the night before, I had a par and a birdie by now, but that was just a dream. 

Third hole is another peculiar one, starting from a deep teebox set in the woods, whence you must make a straight shot to a wide fairway. My shot didn't go straight, unfortunately, it once again arced off the the left. I usually have problems with the slice, but yesterday a bunch of shots went hooking off to the left. Very strange. The god of golf is a fickle bitch. Then the short game and I bickered and sniped at each other until I finally got on the green and drained it for a 6. I should say that I forgot to pick up a scorecard when I started, so there was no actual tally for yesterday's round, which is probably a good thing. 

Fourth is a pleasant par 3 to a raised green. I had read on the course website that someone got a hole in one there a few weeks ago, so I decided that would be a good thing for me to do too. Took a good swing with my 6-iron, but the ball ignored the goodness of my swing and settled unhappily about 2/3 of the way, once again missing left. Good chip and two putts, though, so no real disaster there. 

Five is another par 5, a scenic hole with a green not visible from the tee box. Nice and wide, which is good, because as often happens to me on that hole I sliced a bit. Second shot was one of my patented garbage shots of 19.5 feet. Up to now, btw, I had been glancing behind me from time to time, because that foursome kept breathing down my neck. Says a lot about my golf game that a foursome keeps up with me when I'm playing alone. But they had disappeared, and I didn't see them again. Perhaps they got swallowed up by that big sand trap on three? Maybe they played through while I was standing at the green on four cursing at my ball for not being a hole in one? So, bad second shot but good third, got fairly close to the green and decided to try my 60-degree sand wedge that I got this year. I'd practiced with it in the back yard a bit and once hit it as hard as I could deep into the woods just to see how it felt, and it went a pretty good distance. This time it flew nicely up high in the air, a pretty good distance but not good enough, just short of the green. Eventually, after another gravity slingshot putt I finished and went to 6. 

Sixth hole is a longish par 3 with nasty sand traps protecting the sloping green. I didn't hit it very far but got it on the green with my second shot and actually got a bogey.

Seven is a straight par 4, nice hole. My tee shot sliced wildly and landed bang in the middle of the eighth fairway. Fortunately no one was readying to tee off on eight so I was spared the embarrassment of walking into their fairway to retrieve my errant ball. Threes blocked the green from where I was (I HATE trees) so I had to lay up. I hit a pathetic shot and roundly chewed myself out for not even being able to hit a simple layup, but eventually I found the fairway and finished the hole. By this time I'm realizing that this wasn't my day, and I'm not really having that much fun, and I hate golf and I hate myself and my stupid life and I hate sunshine and little tweety birds and everything that is good and holy. I was so filled with hate I almost felt like a trump voter. 

Now from this point on I started playing somewhat better. Only took me seven holes to find my groove. Does that ever happen to Tiger?   

Eight is a long par 4 over a hillock down to a pleasant shady green. I hit a terrific drive, it soared over the hillock with good speed, straight ahead, just like a real golf shot. Ok, well, I feel less like a trumpie now, and look at those pretty birds! Good second shot just shy of the green, good chip, 2 putts, life is less horrendous. 

Nine, we're almost home. Pretty long par 4, nice hole with the yellow house (which isn't a clubhouse or anything, it's just a house) sitting looking over its domain. Not a bad drive with the wood 3-wood, a mighty second shot, chip too long but two good putts gave me a bogey to finish my mediocre day. And that was my round. 

When I pulled into where the pro shop is there were all sorts of manly men milling around, obviously it was league night at Hooper and I told not one of them how shitty I'd played. Just hoisted my clubs, tidied my cart, put on my mask and pretended I was a real golfer. 

I've got to do better. As Julia pointed out when I got home all glum and morose, I'm not practicing enough. I've hardly gone to the range at all, I've read Ben Hogan's book but haven't practiced his teachings enough (he says I should practice my grip at least an hour a day, and I just realized that I didn't think about my new Hoganesque grip at all yesterday, which is perhaps why the ball was going in directions I didn't intend all day. When I use that nice strong grip, club firmly pressed against the heel of my palm under the pinkie, I hit it better. I also realize i didn't think enough about the plane of my backswing, which is another good Hogan tip. So I think I will hit the range a few times now instead of paying for the rounds and not really enjoying them. Golf isn't cheap, and it's a waste of money if you're not having a good time and playing your best and being prepared. So off to the range I go! 

Hit 'em straight!!!