Ode to the Frustrated Golfer
by Scott France

One would think that after all these years
that a few secrets of golf would evolve
maybe one simple move or a simple technique
granting all of my swing problems solved.

But this isn’t the case, not in the least
as over the countless strokes and years I’ve found
nary a trick of the trade that works
the same in each golfing round.

Take the ball above my feet for example
as I’m taught to aim further right
but to my dismay – as the ball’s on its way
I’m befuddled with the straightest ballflight.

The dreaded shank is yet another conundrum
which from out of nowhere it suddenly appears
sending my playing partners running for cover
as I brace for my darkest fears.
Where this dastardly strike from the hosel comes from?
really, nobody knows
but once one comes it seems the floodgates open
as this virus exponentially grows.

My approach shot that lands beyond the flag
seldom, if ever spins back
but the shot that lands well short of the pin
digs into the green and stops dead in its tracks.

The best tee shot of the round I hit straight and true
in all of the grace and power that goes with it
is a slap in the face, as I exclaim “what a waste”
when I find it in an old non-repaired divot.

The type of tee shot that finds the green
on a long par3 that I abhor
only to find the ball dead center
of where the hole location was the day before.

My tee shot on a long par4
on numerous occasions, to my despair
despite a helping 2-club wind
never seems to get in the air.
But then into the wind with my ball teed low
the magnetic force must beckon from the moon
as my ball takes off, going straight up in the air
as though it were a hot-air balloon.

Those days when I remember to bring my umbrella
to the course when I play a round
are usually the days when the sun shines its rays
and nary a cloud in the sky can be found.
Yet the minute I forget to pack my umbrella
Mother Nature adds to my woes
as the storm clouds roll in and because of my sin
I end up soaked from my head to my toes.

Yes, one would think after a number of years
some of these things would be figured out
but after 20+ years and countless tears
I’m beginning to have my doubts.

An old friend told me many moons ago
that I should take up a different game
one that wouldn’t cause such an unsettling nervous twitch
and compel me to take the Lord’s name in vain.

A fortune I’ve spent in those 20 years since
trying to satisfy a lifelong endeavor
of experiencing that day when everything goes my way
and my tee shots seem to go forever.

I’m still waiting for that day, needless to say
with too much spent for such little gained
all of the effort and time invested
in exchange for frustration and pain.

It’s enough to make me reconsider, for sure
that my old friend’s advice might’ve been true
but I’m in too deep – there’s no turning back now
what else on earth would I do?

I’m not sure why we continue to play
but eagerly we play nonetheless,
knowing full well ahead of time
that it’s very rare that we play our best.

It’s a game of opposites and endless riddles
an afternoon spent amongst friends
as we pass the time remembering our primes
and praying that it never ends.

So the game isn’t just merely about
hitting a little white ball into a hole
and those who suffer from the same affliction
can appreciate this story I’ve told.

Roger Maltbie: Yeah, John, about that. It’s got a little movement but I’m not sure he has to get it outside of the hole. Shotlink says it’s 13 feet, 9 inches.

Johnny Miller: Folks, it’s worth noting that this guy hasn’t missed a putt inside of 14 feet this week. You wanna know how good that is? Since the Tour has been tracking stats over the past two decades – that’s never been done.

Gary Koch: Johnny, the interesting thing is that he claims that he’s never worked with a putting coach, never had a putting lesson before in his life. What we’ve seen through 71 holes this week will probably never be duplicated ever again.

Johnny Miller: Yeah, Gary… the other interesting thing is that Phil Mickelson finished two hours ago and is actually following him in the gallery. I guess you could call that a little Lefty Love? (Laughing)

Mark Rolfing: Guys, I will tell you that he and his caddy were talking coming up the fairway, and he had no idea that he had a 1-stroke lead coming into the final hole. I saw him look over at the leaderboard and the color left his face, he got very pale. Not sure what that means, but I did find it interesting.

Johnny Miller: Well, I don’t know how nervous he is, but he’s starting to slow down quite a bit, Raj. It’s taking him forever to get a handle on this 14 footer, and all he needs is 2 putts to win. Heck, maybe he’s trying to make it?

Roger Maltbie: Yeah, maybe John. Then again – maybe the reality of the situation is finally hitting him. This is a big putt coming up, the biggest putt of his life.

Johnny Miller: This is a game-changer, Roger. If he can get down in 2 – he’ll be the biggest story in golf in the past 30 years. I don’t blame him for taking his time, certainly the putt of his life.

(I finally address the ball, take one more look at the hole, and then carelessly stub the green with my putter right before I stroke the ball, leaving it 5 feet short…)

Johnny Miller: Wow! You called that one, Mark. Folks, that was all nerves… that’s about as pure a choke job is you’ll ever see on TV, or anywhere for that matter.

Roger Maltbie: Yeah, not his best moment. And I can tell you that from my angle – he came very close to double-hitting the ball. We’re talking close enough to have a review.

Johnny Miller: Well, let’s take a look at the replay here. Here you can see that he takes the putter back nice and smooth, and then he gets all herky-jerky and right there – about 2 inches before he impacts the ball – you can see where the sole of his putter made contact with the ground. It wasn’t a double-hit, but it was darn close, Raj.

Gary Koch: And now he’s still got 5 feet remaining for his par and the outright win, and this isn’t an easy putt, Johnny. It’s left edge, but the pace has to be perfect. We’ve seen a lot of players overplay this break from this angle, and the reason is because it looks a little uphill. It’s a level putt, and this one has fooled a lot of players today.

Johnny Miller: Well, one thing is for certain – he’s not wasting any time now. Let’s see if he can make a good stroke here and cash the biggest check of his life…

(I hammer the putt some 4 feet by the hole, never scaring the left edge…)

Roger Maltbie: I can tell you that Phil Mickelson just left the gallery and is heading to the practice green – looks like a pair of Lefty’s headed to sudden death!

Johnny Miller: That’s assuming that he can make this 4 footer, Raj. Folks, this is what happens when the nerves take over – you become paralyzed. What you see and what you feel are on two completely different wavelengths, and what this really means is that you’ve lost your feel. When you lose your feel, you lose control of your nerves. It’s like a gag reflex, and that’s why we call it choking, because that’s what it is. It ended Hogan’s career, it ended Watson’s career, and as bad as I hate to say it – it got the best of me too. It’s a bad way to go out, for sure.

Gary Koch: Well, Johnny… I guess we can throw out that “hasn’t missed inside of 14 feet” stat this week.

Johnny Miller: We might need to add a stat, Gary – hasn’t made one from inside 4 feet this week. Hope not, he’s played very well this week. You hate to see all that hard work go down the drain like this….

And then I wake up in a cold sweat, hands are shaking, and my wife’s snoring quickly reminds me that it’s just a bad dream.

One of these nights I’m gonna make that 15 footer and put Johnny Miller in his place.

It’s not like I didn’t hit a few good shots, but it was very much a scrappy round that has pretty much become the “hard par” norm for me this season.

The other thing dwelling in the back of my mind is the depressing distraction of knowing that I’m nearing the 4th quarter in the game of time with my friends here. I’ve been blessed to have a good number of friends to share this game with on a regular basis, and teeing it up with them now when my schedule permits reminds me of just how difficult it’s going to be saying goodbye to them in a couple of months. If that pressing dilemma wasn’t happening, I’d get a little more perturbed at myself for my indifferent playing from time to time. But knowing that each round now with them is going to be a close-yet-distant memory down the road I’m traveling, I’m reminded that the quality of golf doesn’t matter nearly as much as the quality of the time spent enjoying the company of people that you’ve grown to appreciate and care deeply about.

One of the great 19th century writers, Oliver Wendell Holmes, once said, “Friendship is a breathing rose, with sweets in every fold.”

You gotta take time to smell the roses in life.

Of all the things that challenge me in golf, tapping into my true inner trust is by far the most difficult. As my good friend Tim, who happens to be the head teaching professional at the course where I’ve played a majority of my golf over the years often says to me, “Playing for the miss isn’t the ideal way to play this game, Lefty. You gotta let it happen.”

Of everything that has been said about the golf swing over the years, nothing has ever been more true.

“Letting it happen” comes from a number of things. It’s a product of playing experiences that come from playing the game for a number of years. It’s having a good understanding of what exactly it is that allows your own golf swing to work naturally, and knowing precisely what your limitations are – your strengths and weaknesses. It’s being competent in assessing the situation and the conditions, and trusting your instincts as a player. And the last-but-most important thing – knowing that you’ve got both the swing and the right club to execute the shot needed.

But these player traits don’t come naturally. You’re not born with them. They’re not bundled with a package deal when you buy a new set of irons or a new driver.

These playing traits are learned through a number of years of playing rounds, devoted practice sessions and above and beyond all else – patience. You earn them through experience. There are no shortcuts, no buy-one get-one free deals, and contrary to popular belief – you can’t get them by subscribing to the Golf Channel’s instructional segments, or Golf Magazine’s tip of the month, or the well-intended suggestions from playing partners who’ve perfected the worthless art of passing along something they’ve read or heard that they themselves don’t truly understand.

“Letting it happen” occurs when you’re standing on the tee of a well-protected par3 on a windy day and you know you’ve selected the right club from the bag. It occurs when you’re so focused on your target that you don’t think about 50 different swing thoughts, or the water fronting the right side of the green. It occurs when you’re standing over a 4 footer to decide a match, but you’re not thinking about the embarrassment that might come should you miss it. It occurs when you play without fear or shame when playing with better players, and admiring your game equally as much as you admire theirs’.

That is the essence of true confidence, the ability to trust your technique, your decision making, your equipment, and your abilities as a player. That confidence is earned, it can’t be bought. You can’t earn confidence sitting at home when you could be out at the range hitting balls and working on your technique, or a quick evening practice round, or getting lessons if needed.

There are two types of golfers: those who have confidence, and those who wish they had confidence.

Which one are you?

But there I was submitting a membership application, pondering whether or not I was getting into something that I would eventually regret.

Earlier that season a friend of mine that was a member of this club would occasionally talk about his experiences there, and when he talked about the conditions, the fact that slow play didn’t exist there, and how the members themselves were unlike the typical snooty Country Club types that have traditionally given the private club experience the black eye it often deserves – I figured that he was exaggerating a bit. And when he went on to talk about how affordable this place was, I felt that it was entirely too good to be true. But after a few months of listening to him talk fondly of the place, it gradually peaked my interest enough to finally go check it out.

John, the General Manager, was the first person I recall meeting during my initial visit to Blue Ridge Country Club. He welcomed me to his facility with a warm handshake and a degree of pleasantness that caught me well off guard. He suggested that we scout the layout before giving me the grand tour of the clubhouse, and ran inside to grab his coat. It was late fall/early winter at the time, the temperatures were just above freezing. But he felt more than happy to shuttle me around the course to see what it was like, and despite it being miserably cold outside he gave me a very thorough review of each and every hole. “This is the tree that drives all of the members crazy,” he’d say, or “this is the hole that really sets the tone for the challenge awaiting on this side.” He was very detailed in describing the subtle playing characteristics and demands that each shot on each hole required, and despite the 10-15 mph breeze that cut right to the bone on that cold fall day – he was out there offering me the ins and outs of the place.

Then we hustled inside and thawed out a bit as he showed me around the really nice clubhouse that had just been built a few years earlier, with the beautiful decor, amenities and conveniences that left nothing to be desired. It was about as perfect a setting as one could possibly wish for as an avid golfer looking for a new golf home. It really was fabulous, much more extravagant than anything I could’ve possibly expected.

There was a lot to take in, for sure. And then he invited me into his office to answer whatever questions I might have, of which there were many. He answered each and every last one of them, and gave me a members handbook to take home and look over. There was absolutely no pressure involved, and he even invited me to come back on a warmer day and play the course. “I’ll have to charge you the guest rate,” he said. “It’s our club policy, although our guest rate is quite reasonable. But if you decide you want to join and you’re accepted, of which I don’t think will be an issue from what I can tell, we’ll deduct that guest fee from your dues balance. I’ve got a feeling that you would enjoy your time here, Scott. We’re not like most private clubs.”

Not that I would know the difference since I’d never been a member of a private club before, but this much was certain – John was such a gracious host that afternoon and that left a lasting impression with me.

John ended up being correct, as I very much enjoyed my time at Blue Ridge over the several seasons that I was privileged to play and be a member there. The layout was always in great condition, as the course superintendent (Pete) did a fabulous job keeping the members happy by keeping it well maintained year round. There was hardly a day that passed when I would be playing that I didn’t see him out riding around the course to make sure that his standards were being met, and he’d take the time to talk with me on occasion about whatever battles he was winning against Mother Nature.

As for the character of the layout itself… it takes a little time to get accustomed to the subtle nuances of a new course, and that wasn’t any different there at Blue Ridge in my case. But what I liked from the very get-go was the fact that there weren’t any tricked-up holes or surprises, the challenges presented on each hole are right in front of you without the occasional trickery some layouts are cursed with. That’s not to suggest that there aren’t some tough holes there, because it can be a very challenging layout some days. The greens aren’t overly big and they’re relatively quick, so being able to chip and putt are skills that will be relied upon day in and day out. But at the same time it’s a very fair course. It’s the type of course that rewards you for hitting a good shot, and some holes will allow you to stray a little without killing the scorecard. But some holes, like the par4 13th for example, requires nothing less than your best effort. It’s very rare that you get out of position on that short, tight dogleg right hole and salvage a par, and sometimes even a bogey can be a solid score on that hole. Having played Blue Ridge for the number of years that I played there did indeed make me a better player, because of two reasons really: (1) the quality of players that play there, as there are quite a few accomplished players that I got the privilege of playing with on a regular basis, and (2) the quality of the layout itself. Both of these factors provided plenty of motivation to improve as a player. I could go to a lot of other layouts in the region and shoot low-mid 70′s and come away feeling like I didn’t play nearly as well as I did in some of the rounds up at Blue Ridge when I barely broke 80. The layout is the type of layout that demands a reasonable all-around game, and in addition to all those things – the layout taught me the importance of the incredibly difficult art of staying patient with my golf game.

Like any other private club, there were a few members there who couldn’t be pleased no matter what. Every club has them, public or private, and you quickly figure out who they are. It never dawned on me to be overly critical of anything, especially given the affordability of the place. It was (and still is imo) the best private club deal going in the region as it relates to overall value, and I recognized that a lot of public course memberships were even more expensive in the end than it ended up costing me each season to enjoy the private club experience there. For sure, I got quite the bargain with 4-hour rounds and exceptional playing conditions. As a golfer, that were the two things that mattered most… everything else above and beyond that was a bonus.

I got along great with everyone, and I found the membership overall to be very enjoyable people to play golf with and be around. In fact – some of my closest friendships have come as a result of my association with Blue Ridge Country Club, and that’s something that I don’t take for granted. Sharing a place with 300-400 other members can sometimes be awkward, but I never had a single instance where I didn’t feel appreciated or welcomed. In fact – within the first year after joining there, the membership went out of their way to make me feel like I was a longtime member.

I had to make the difficult decision over the winter to part ways with Blue Ridge. It wasn’t an easy decision, by any means, but with my upcoming move to London early summer – I knew that the distractions and requirements associated with my relocation to Europe would make it impossible to play enough to take advantage of what little spare time I might have to play golf. Although I’m somewhat excited about experiencing a new life and a different culture abroad, it was sad that such a great private club had to become part of the collateral damage of the situation I find myself in. So many good people that I met and played golf with on a weekly basis, so many enjoyable memories there….

I’d be very lucky to find that same type of laid-back and unassuming atmosphere at a golf facility across the pond, but hopefully I can. That atmosphere is what makes the game so enjoyable for me, that ability to feel at home and comfortable with fellow golfers who are as passionate about the game as I am.

Blue Ridge Country Club fed my passion for the game for a good number of years, and for that I’m eternally grateful.

Jeanie was our relocation agent, and we explained to her that we weren’t looking to buy a home right off the bat. The wife and I discussed this prior to moving and agreed that renting for a few years to get comfortable and acquainted with our new surroundings would be ideal for our situation. The most important thing that we communicated to her was that we were looking for a good school district for our kids, and right after that we were wanting to live in more of a rural area and avoid the inner city life at all costs. We have never been, nor will ever be, city people. I don’t like traffic, I don’t like crowds, and I’ve always appreciated having some sense of privacy. Give me a 2-lane road with farmland and mountains any day over the hustle and bustle of a busy city – I don’t need to be able to get to the mall in 10 minutes or less. In fact, put me an hour away from the mall. I hate the mall. I hate everything about going to the mall, I’m not a mall guy.

But Jeanie didn’t quite get the memo.

We spent the first two days looking at nearly every rundown row home and chronic fixer-upper in center city Allentown. I kept dropping subtle hints at every other traffic light that we came to, reminding her that (a) we weren’t interested in buying a home and (b) that I despised traffic lights and overpopulated areas in general… but she continued with her own agenda and finally it dawned on me that the only thing she was interested in was making a sale. Knowing that if we continued the same process with her over our remaining two days on our trip that we’d end up not finding a place to live, I called her office the next morning and told her that she was no longer needed. She was shocked and almost impolite after learning that we no longer wanted her input, and I basically told her to have a good life. When I got off the phone with her, my opinion of the people living in the Lehigh Valley took a serious nosedive, which only motivated me to drive as far away as possible to find a place to live. A quiet place, above everything else.

The next morning my wife and I grabbed a quick breakfast and decided to head north up route 309. I pointed at a little spot on the map that said “New Tripoli” and told her that maybe we should start there. We heard good things about the school district, it was a very rural area with light population, and it would only add about 15 more minutes to my wife’s commute to work each day. So that’s where we headed. The little town of New Tripoli ended up being precisely what the doctor ordered. We found a new town home that was for rent, we liked the area, and it was a situation that we felt would be comfortable until we found something a little more permanent later on.

But the best part was that I’d scouted what appeared to be a really nice golf course only a mile up the road from where we’d be living. To suggest that this had nothing to do with my part of the decision would be a lie, for sure. And I think the wife knew that, but she also knew that it was a nice area with a good school, and that a golf course nearby would more than help her husband settle in and make new friends. It really was a win-win for everyone involved, except Jeanie of course.

The name of that golf course is Olde Homestead Golf Club, and I’ll never forget the first time I took a tour of the place…. it was unlike any other course I’d ever stepped foot on. It was immaculate, the conditions, the scenery, the old Pennsylvania Dutch feel, the mountains, the wildlife – everything about it. Each hole that I toured only reinforced my notion that this was the greatest place on the golfing planet, and I couldn’t wait to put a tee in the ground and give it a test run.

Over a dozen years worth of fond memories and approximately 1000+ rounds later, I still enjoy playing there as much today as I did many moons ago. A lot of golfers often lament that they get tired of playing the same course over and over, but I’ve never felt that way there. Even when I became a member at a private club several years ago, I still logged plenty of rounds there to more than qualify being a regular. With it only being a mile up the road from me, and having one of the best practice facilities in the Northeast, there was no way I could possibly avoid the place, and not that I ever wanted to. The owners, the staff, the quality of service and the warm hospitality – all of these things only enhance the experience of playing undoubtedly one of the best 18 hole golf facilities in the Lehigh Valley, public or private. In fact – I’ve probably played no fewer than 200 courses in the Northeast over the past 12 years, and Olde Homestead still ranks #1 on my personal ranking system, by far. There’s not a single weak hole on the layout, and I feel like I’m appreciated there every time I walk through the gates. The people who make Olde Homestead what it is, and Olde Homestead the layout itself, have become family to me, my 2nd home only a mile down the road from where I live. But besides becoming my 2nd family and 2nd home, Olde Homestead also revealed the very thing that Jeanie failed to help me discover back in the fall of 1999: that my perception of the people in the Northeast couldn’t have been more wrong.

When I finally get settled in London this summer, I’ll have to find a new place to hang my golf hat for a few years. I’ve already made some inquiries and have my eye on a few places in particular, and they look relatively nice and enjoyable to play.

But no matter which course I play over there, it won’t be Olde Homestead.

But regardless of where I’ve played, be it at a public venue or a private club, I’ve always been a bit hesitant in disclosing my level of skill when asked by strangers that I’m playing with for the very first time. Naturally it’s near the top of the list of the official icebreakers that immediately follow the formal introductions, usually following the “so where are you from” and “what do you do for a living” probes that traditionally occur when golfers prepare to spend what amounts to half a day with each other in the golfing trenches. Being what some would consider an above-average player (depends on the day, mind you), I guess there’s a small aspect of my self-conscious that would rather avoid answering the query altogether, as it invariably leads to this unwarranted-yet-warranted need to live up to the expectations of the questioner.

It’s eerily similar to the “eNob” syndrome, which is the acronym for “embroidered name on bag.”  I’ve played with a few eNobs over the years and I’ve always pondered why they’d want to advertize how badly they suck at golf. It’s not that they lack confidence, obviously, but that they struggle to comprehend their realities as players. It’s worth noting that this doesn’t apply to head professionals/teaching professionals, or the standard run-of-the-mill plastic bag tags with names on them. So relax. The plastic bag tags have always been and will always be socially acceptable for hackers and accomplished players alike, and grassroots professionals have always enjoyed the distinction of having their names on their bags for obvious reasons. The eNobs I’m referring to are the wannabe touring pros who’ve yet to figure out that they have to win more than just a couple of club championships to assume that pinnacle of success. But that goes without saying….

Anyway, the point is that I’d simply rather avoid disclosing that information to strangers verbally and allow my golf game to speak for itself. That way if I do suck, which I occasionally do, then it’s not like my ego has to spend most of the round thinking of a laundry list of justifications as to why I sucked afterward. How many of us have experienced the pain and torture with a self-professed “gamer” and thought to ourselves by the 5th or 6th hole, “3 handicap my ass.”

Meandering off to a completely different story as it relates to playing with strangers… I’ll never forget one of the greatest lessons I ever received early on in my golf life, a lesson that really caused me to alternatively consider the true meaning of the word handicap.

I’d just moved to Western Kentucky and found a reasonably nice course shortly after settling in, a layout that was definitely a few rungs higher on the difficulty ladder than most of the low-end open field pastures I had occasionally frequented prior. The greens were nice, the course was well maintained overall, and it wasn’t narrow by any means, but narrow enough to remind you that really bad swings generally come with really bad consequences. After playing there a few times I decided to get an annual membership. I remember going up early one morning about a month into my membership, and checked in with the pro shop to see about getting out for a quick round. The head pro told me, “Certainly, no problem at all, Scott. Just so you know, there’s another annual fee member looking to play with someone, he just called and he’s about 2 minutes out. It’s your call, but I think you’d enjoy playing with him.” I said, “Sure, that’s fine. I just want to get a round in today, no problem.”

I paid my cart fee and told the bag boy to load me up on a cart, and then I walked over to the putting green to get in a few practice putts while I waited for the other single to join me. About 2 minutes later a car pulled up to the bag drop and the bag boy fetched his bag out of the trunk and loaded it onto the passenger side in my cart. I spent the next 5 minutes or so consumed with trying to figure out why I suddenly couldn’t make a 5 footer, and then I saw a guy with only one arm walking toward me. “Are you Scott?” he asked. I was a bit confused, to be quite honest, but I quickly got my wits about me and said, “Yes sir, that’s me. And you are?” He stuck his hand out and said, “Bill, but most people call me Willie. I’ll answer to both, whatever you prefer.” I shook his hand and said, “Nice to meet you, Willie. I guess you and I are playing together this morning?” He said, “Yeah, if that’s alright with you. If not, I completely understand. But I promise to not hold you up.” I smiled at him and said, “Well, I’ll try to not hold you up as well. Let’s head on down to the tee, shall we?”

On the way to the opening tee box, Willie informed me that he’d be playing the most forward tees. He reminded me to play whatever tee box I felt comfortable playing. Figuring that I’d be outdriving him by hundreds of yards on every hole, I felt somewhat obligated to play the tees further back than I normally would. The opening hole was rather benign, short and wide open. I hit an okay tee shot that missed the fairway by just a few yards, and then watched Willie hustle to the forward tee box to put his ball in play.

Now in my mind I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I can promise you that I wasn’t expecting what I saw with his first swing of the day. Willie gripped the club with his left hand no differently than I would with my right, then slightly strengthened his grip just the least bit as the head of the club rested on the ground behind the ball. The ball was teed up normally, and everything about his setup looked no different than anyone else I’d ever played with. With exception, obviously, of him only having one arm. He took the club back nice and smoothly, and then just let gravity take over.

I watched in absolute astonishment as his ball took to the sky and never thought about leaving the center of the fairway, passing by my ball by at least a good 40 yards. I honestly didn’t know what to say at that precise moment, but habit pulled me out of my moment of disbelief long enough to offer the traditional “Nice ball.” Willie smiled and said, “There ain’t a feeling like it in the world, is there?” and gave me a wink and a nod as he hustled back to the cart.

On that opening hole that morning, he hit his 2nd shot just short of the green but then chipped his ball to about 5 feet, and nonchalantly walked up and putted it in as though it was a 2-footer. I recall 3-putting that opening hole to card a bogey, and on the way to the next tee box I remember thinking to myself something along the lines of, “You just got beat by a 1-armed golfer.” It was at that point that I informed Willie that I would be moving up to my normal tees to play the remainder of the round, and he said to me, “Play whatever tee box you enjoy playing, kid. I’m just along for the ride today.”

What a ride it ended up being, for me at least. We shared some interesting conversations that morning, and I’d learned that he lost his arm in Vietnam. He talked about how he’d just gotten into golf before he was drafted for the war, and that he was immediately addicted to the game. He confided that his biggest frustration while he spent his time recovering in a military hospital being, “I’d never get to see how good of a golfer I could’ve become.” But he held no resentment whatsoever about his misfortune, and went further to concede that a lot of his friends never made it back home to worry about something as trivial as golf. Outside of that he really didn’t talk much about the war, other than occasionally joking that “Charlie” probably robbed him of several club championships later on in life.

Judging by what he could do with a club in only one hand, there was no doubt in my mind that that was the case.

I never got to play with Willie again after that day. A few months later I learned that his wife became ill and passed away, and he was said to have packed up his belongings and relocated somewhere out in the Midwest. I do remember going into the pro shop after the round that day and thanking the head pro for giving me the opportunity to play with Willie. The head pro said, “I figured you’d enjoy it. Special guy, ain’t he?”

In more ways than one.

Even though we’ve not been given a “firm” departure date for London, my rough calculations now have us at about the 10 week mark. Although I’m very familiar with the preparations involved with a domestic relocation, I’m finding that there’s simply not enough hours in the day to thoroughly prepare for a move to another continent. Then again, I’m not sure that it was ever designed to be a simple process, especially considering the warranted security requirements that have increased over the past decade on a global scale.

I am appreciative of the process to be sure, but the miles of endless red tape have left what few functioning brain cells I have remaining working some serious overtime.

Over the past couple of months, I’ve learned to a much greater extent of just how cluttered my life really has become. I think the light bulb went off about three weeks ago, as I began the process of trying to locate the vital personal records that are required for a passport application. Eleven years of mounting paperwork clutter, ranging from important things like bank statements, retirement fund statements and tax returns, to the most trivial of things such as 2nd grade report cards, have all been non-systematically transferred into a number of unmarked medium-sized cardboard boxes that occupy an unfinished utility room in my basement. Having to filtering through 11 years worth of this crap has more or less come as a result of my unwillingness to embrace the paperless movement that just about everyone conformed to several years ago. But not us. No, we need everything in writing and on a real piece of official paper, even if it was a reminder slip back in 2002 that our son’s lunch account at school needed money.

Besides coming to the realization that we’ve turned into pack ratting rodents, I’ve also learned that all of the must-have services that we can’t possibly live without have become too numerous to mention. For instance – take our cellphones. We’re only a family of four, but for whatever reason we have no fewer than 15 spare cellphones lying around the house, and all of them work just fine. But we just can’t say no to the newer “free” upgrades that come out every six months, of which, mind you, are anything but free. As a result, the 2-year contract agreements are always renewing every single year, which becomes extremely significant when you learn about the early termination penalties. Verizon Wireless has been great to deal with over the years, but I’m guessing that my opinion of them will change in 60 days when I account for 4 early-termination fees what will amount to roughly $1000.

Then there’s the issue of our furry creatures that we can’t live without. I love my dogs and they’re definitely a part of our family, but relocating them to another country with us will require more paperwork and official documentation than all of the family members combined. And the red tape involved with getting all of the pet documentation (which includes obtaining a required official clearance document from the United States Department of Agriculture) is a process that can take several months to complete, meaning that if you have pets and expect to take them with you to another country – you would be advised to start the process the moment you learn that you’re relocating! And if it happens to be a spur-of-the-moment move? Good luck finding someone who would be eager to take care of your pets and assuming the burden of preparing your pets to be sent over to you long after you’ve already arrived at your new locale. Thankfully we’ve stayed on top of keeping our dogs properly certified and immunized, but the process is still a lengthy and complicated one. We won’t even talk about the expense of having those pets join us on the flight over…

Beyond the most obvious things, there are also other things that aren’t so obvious but also have to be considered. Those things range from getting medical records prepared and transferred to a different health facility at the new destination, to things like finding a caretaker to tend to your home back in the states (if you own a home and decide to keep your house). Do you keep the electricity on while you’re away? What about your homeowners insurance policy? What changes might need to be implemented to account for the dwelling being unoccupied? The same goes for personal automobiles… do you keep them or sell them while you’re away? Or do you spend the several thousands of dollars to have them shipped to your new location? How much will it cost to store them in a safe and secure building if you do decide to keep them? Do you downgrade your auto insurance policy since they’re not in use? What about having them registered by the state each year? Do you just turn in your tags and not register them, even though you might need them if you come back for occasional summer vacations?

This is just a small, small sampling of literally hundreds of things that I’m currently in the process of tending to, with only 10 weeks left to see them through. Throw in a quick visit to my family over 600 miles away, a quick visit to my wife’s family 2 hours away, and a week of house hunting in London prior to our official move… I just don’t know how it’ll all get done, but it must.

That feeling that most people who’ve waited until the last minute get on December 18th, with only 6 more shopping days until Christmas? Welcome to my world. That’s what I’ve got to look forward to, basically for the next 70 days.

Ho, Ho, Ho.

I was technically in the rough, but the ball was sitting on a subtle downward slope and the rough wasn’t much thicker than the fringe that was only a foot away. My initial impression as I approached the green was putting my 4th shot, but I brought a wedge with me just in case. I was only about 15 feet from the hole with the green gently sloping away from me, and I knew that even a so-so attempt with my putter would likely leave me much closer to the hole for my par putt than a good chip. I decided to putt the ball, and it was better than so-so. It almost went in for birdie. I tapped in the remaining 4 inches left for my par and thought to myself, “okay, today might be a little easier than I thought.”

Famous last words…

Getting everything squared away for our upcoming move to London has severely impacted my ability to practice and play like I normally would heading into the start of a golf season. Normally I’ve already got a handful of good practice sessions logged and 10 rounds or so posted toward my handicap by this time of the season. I know, I’m not getting any sympathy from most of you. I’m not really asking for any, for what it’s worth. I’m just stating the fact that I’ve got a high-maintenance golf swing that requires a lot more attention than what I’ve been able to offer it thus far this season. Of which, mind you, is why I’ve kinda lowered my expectations this year. But despite knowing that my scores are going to increase because of these things, it still makes it no easier to accept sometimes.

I hit a bad drive on the 2nd hole but somehow avoided the deep fairway bunkers on the left. From only 124 yards with a good lie in the rough, I hit a low skanky looking shot that ended up well short and right of the green. From about 45 feet, I hit a very nice pitch shot that ended up only 4 feet from the hole, and drained the short left-to-righter to save my par. I walk to the cart thinking that I’ve dodged a bullet, and still find myself clinging to the hopes of having a solid round.

From that point onward, it would be an hour before I’d get my next par. That par came as a result of a nice approach that ended up to within 10 feet of the flag on the par4 6th, as I missed the birdie. I made a routine par on the par5 8th, and then hit a beautiful green-side bunker shot on the par3 9th to within 5 feet, but missed and ended up going out in 6-over 42. It was very much a struggle the first couple of hours, but I knew that there were some opportunities on the back to make up a few shots with better play. The state of my game might not be good enough to rebound for a great round, but a respectable round was still very much in the picture.

I was able to put together some better swings on the back-nine coming in. I peppered the flag with my approach on the par4 11th, but missed the 8 footer for birdie to stay at +6. I ended up leaving my approach well away from the hole on the par5 12th, but did manage a decent 2-putt from long range to at least not give a shot away. I scrambled for another nice par on the par3 13th from just off the green, and hit only my 5th green of the day on the par4 14th, 2-putting again for another par. I narrowly missed the fairway bunkers on the uphill par4 15th, but hit my approach a little deep. From 40 feet I put an excellent stroke on the ball and watched it roll around the right side of the cup to just avoid birdie. I’m still at +6 on the round as I head to the par5 16th.

A decent tee shot, followed by a nice 3hybrid left me about 60 yards to the back hole location. I played a little bump-n-run shot (a shot that I’m trying to use more often to prepare for the occasions it’ll be needed in Europe) and I played it surprisingly well. I had about 10 feet for birdie, and after watching my playing partner stiff his approach to within 2 feet from 150 yards, I was desperately wanting to join him on the birdie train. Let it be known that in nearly 3 hours and 30 minutes after I teed off earlier, I finally made a birdie. Finally! That got me back to +5 on the round.

A bad swing would follow, however. From 145 yards and playing into a good 2-club wind, I never came close to finding the green of the par3 17th. It was essentially the same shot that I hit with my approach on the 2nd hole – ugly, short and right. I hit a great pitch shot from about 25 yards to within 2 feet, saving par. And then at the last, I hit a wicked slice that somehow managed to stay in play, albeit with the ball about 8 inches above my feet. The hole location was generous, and the yardage was perfect for a simple low-driller into the wind. I started the ball about 10 yards left of the green and watched it bend back right at the flag, probably the best shot I hit all day. I got to the green and I’ve got about 15 feet for birdie, a putt that I’ve made dozens of times here over the years. But then again – very few of those times when I made that putt were the greens slow and bumpy from aeration a few weeks earlier. Putting today was marginally better than it has been there for the past couple of weeks, but the ball still bounces hither and yon. Yet I still had a good feeling standing over that birdie putt at the last.

I was 1-under on the back, and I had a very legit chance of going out in 2-under 34. A round of 76 sounds so much better than a round of 77, at least to someone who is technically still a 3-handicapper for the time being anyway. But a round of 5-over 77 would end up being the number. My birdie putt bounced about a foot from the hole and just veered off to the right, on a putt that typically breaks to the left no less.

Going back to what I said earlier about it being difficult to accept…. I’ve found that accepting a tough round is probably the hardest part in playing the game. But I also understand the importance of being able to do that. In an experienced player’s mind – he expects to play well every round, regardless of how he played the last round out, or despite that it might’ve been 2 weeks since he last played. I’ve played the game long enough to realize that the past doesn’t equal the future, and the future doesn’t promise us anything. It’s all about what you do today.

And what I did on Sunday wasn’t really worth sharing, other than to say that at least I hung in there and kept it somewhat respectable. But most importantly – I shared the day with 2 great friends who’ve become much more to me than just weekend playing partners. We all had lunch afterward in the clubhouse and as I walked to the car with them to leave 45 minutes later, the thought occurred to me that my days with them are numbered. As much as I want to play good golf, and I really do, the feeling that one has after a good round is only as memorable as those that he shares it with.

It was a tough day, but a good day, for all the right reasons.

But this day was unlike any other.

It’s in these pressure-packed moments within any sport that an athlete is conditioned to reflect on the numerous successful instances in the past in which he executed the play just as planned, as a confident image plays out in highlight mini-reel fashion in his mind. I’d never been this close to doing anything remotely this significant in golf, however. The closest comparison I could think of is when I would play with “him.”

Every significant round that I’d ever played had been with him. And on those rare occasions that I’d beat him, I felt like I had just won a major championship.

Russ and I began our friendship shortly after I moved to Western Kentucky back in the early 1990′s, and it wasn’t long after that when we decided to take up this crazy game of golf. Every week we’d play at least one round, some weeks we might even squeeze in two rounds, at this little municipal course in Paducah called Paxton Park. The greens at Paxton weren’t overly big but were notoriously fast and firm, two factors that played a significant role in both of us learning the value of a tidy short game early on in our golfing exploits. Over the next several years we would become better players and wouldn’t have to rely on our short games nearly as much as we did just starting out, but little did we know that those hot, humid summer days of grinding and sweating over difficult pitches, chips and putts would only add to the excitement and drama of our weekly battles against one another in the coming years ahead.

Russ was an exceptional athlete, having played in multiple sports in high school and college, but where he excelled most was on the basketball court. To this day I’ve never played with anyone who had as pure a jump shot from beyond the arc as he did, and although I didn’t have to ever remind him of this (like most good athletes – he seldom lacked confidence), but had he been just 4 inches taller – he most likely could’ve signed on with just about any Division I school in the country. Fortunately for me, however, he was only 6 feet tall and instead of chasing a life of fame and fortune in some big city beyond his college days, he ended up settling in this sleepy little town in Western Kentucky called Lone Oak, which is essentially where our friendship started. So even though he was obviously more athletically gifted than I was in most other sports, in golf I felt a lot closer to being his equal. At least in my own mind anyway, despite usually coming up on the short end of our weekly matches.

All of the significant accomplishments that both of us enjoyed early on in our golf experiences came in the company of the other. When he broke 80 for the first time, which was about a year before I accomplished the feat myself, we were playing together. I remember that day most vividly, because it was also the very same round that I joined the ranks of the exclusive hole-in-one club, courtesy of an 8iron from 145 yards. He would go on to break 80 several more times that season, and although I would get painstakingly close – my only consolation was that maybe he had no other choice but to break 80 if he expected to beat me. Well, that and the fact that within 6 weeks of carding my first career ace – I would card another one at the very course that he and I basically cut our golfing teeth on. Russ wasn’t with me that day, but another good friend of mine (and a pretty good golfer at that) Brian was with me when I got my 2nd hole-in-one. Having two good friends like Russ and Brian as witnesses to such a memorable time in my golf life made it all the sweeter, and although we don’t talk as much as we used to, we still try to keep in touch from time to time.

Playing with Russ over the years planted a competitive seed within me that wouldn’t bear fruit until many years later, long after we played our last full season together as regular golfing buddies. Not that I didn’t have the ability to be competitive, but winning certainly wasn’t a concept that drove my extracurricular ambitions to higher standards of excellence. At that time in my life, my golfing personality was much more reserved and laid back, which probably had as much to do with recognizing my novice level of skill as anything else. But I admired the passion that Russ played with, a passion that didn’t just extend to golf or sports in general, but even with something as trivial as a card game on a Saturday night. Looking back on what specifically made him such a good athlete, and even more importantly what enabled him to become very successful in his career over the years, it became apparent that his confident attitude and his desire to be the best at everything he did in life were the real catalysts of his enormous ambition.

So when those rare instances came when I did manage to beat him, whether it was in golf, tennis, or hoops – all of those qualities he possessed made the experience much more rewarding and memorable for me. In all of those years we played sports together, he taught me the value in having more confidence than your opponent, but more importantly – the importance of having more heart.

As life has a way of doing sometimes, and most of the time as it happens when we least expect it, the paths that bring two people together long enough to develop a close friendship eventually separate and head in totally different directions. Back in the summer of 1999, I’ll never forget the sadness and the awkwardness of having to tell my best friend in the world that in a matter of just a few months I would be moving 1000 miles away. Although the game of golf formed the foundation of our friendship early on, we’d become much more to each other than just regular golf buddies. Our families became close, our kids did things together on the weekends, we’d get babysitters and take our wives out for dinner dates and shopping trips to the malls. When one of us had a home project that needed an extra pair of hands – it was just expected that the other would be there when the need arose. All of the miles we drove together going on golf trips to Myrtle Beach, St. Louis, Tennessee, and elsewhere over the years – all of those memories became permanent fixtures of an important time in my life.

There are significant life events that one never forgets. December 27th, 1999 would mark one of the most significant for me, as two families stood in a driveway in the wee morning hours and shared a few memories, laughs, tears and hugs just moments before a 16-hour journey to the Northeast would officially begin a new chapter in life for one of them. As I pulled out of the driveway and drove down the street, I watched them continue to wave in my rearview mirror until I could see them no more. The empty feeling that came over me at that precise moment was indescribable, and that emptiness remained long after we’d settled in and got accustomed to a new life in the Northeast.

There have been a number of instances over the years that I’ve found that old, “better to have loved” adage to be painfully true, although nothing was lost with my friendship with Russ. He and I still talk from time to time despite the 1000 miles between us, and I’ve also enjoyed a few annual golf trips with him over the years since. Given my life-changing situation that blessed me with an abundance of time to devote to improving my golf game over the past decade, and the fact that his career and family life have only demanded more of his time and energy, the competitive golfing scale that for many years tipped the balance in his favor now leans to mine. He doesn’t play nearly as much golf as he used to, of which he readily admits each time we talk, but embedded somewhere deep within all of the trappings of a hectic life still lies the spirit of a competitive warrior whose winning attitude proved contagious.

As I wiped the sweat from my brow and took one last look at the remaining 4 feet left that Sunday afternoon on the final hole, my mind reflected back to those old days gone by on the course with Russ. I seldom had an opportunity to close out our match on the 18th hole by virtue of a simple 4-footer for par, but it was always the goal at the start of each round I played with him. Although he was 1000 miles away that hot summer day back in August of 2009, in my mind he was leaning on his putter as he stood 10 feet away watching and waiting to see if I was brave enough to close him out.

I stepped back over the ball, gave the hole one last look, and somehow managed to take the putter back on the perfect line with the perfect pace, and I stroked it into the heart of the cup to become my club’s Champion Golfer that year, the amateur equivalent of winning a major championship.

The only possible thing that would’ve made that accomplishment more fulfilling was if my old golf buddy had been there pushing me the entire way.

Then again, in my mind he was.