What a cruel game

Some of my victims

Some of my victims

I went golfing again. What was I thinking?
My father-in-law invited me this past Wednesday to join him on his annual trip to the Rainier Country Club, a beautiful course located in the flight path of SeaTac airport. I believe if you hit one of the jets during their landing approach, you win a suit.

But even if that was possible, there would have been no way I could have hit a ball that accurately. The night before, I made a last-minute visit to a driving range to try and get some kind of swing back.  As I left, the range operator asked if I wanted to borrow their nets for when I played.
Golf, for me, is three or four amazing moments surrounded by a sea of ineptness. There was one time where I was 160 yards from the pin, I grabbed a 3-wood and the ball landed miraculously on the green. There was also a 16-foot putt that I sank, reminiscent of Tiger Woods.
But there were also the constant tee shots that went into the trees. (by the end of the day, I had to have been placed on a Sierra Club hit list).
Yet, it was still a day off of work……a chance to play hooky, to be surrounded by grass and green and not a care in the world: except for how to get that @&!!!%! ball into the hole.
I’m sure I’ll do better next time. I know that’s what I thought last time.
Being half Scottish, I take my share of responsibility for this game. But I have to ask: what the heck were my ancestors thinking?

Tim Hunter

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