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My chosen place to think is usually when walking out dogs. We have a very intelligent yellow Lab named Cooper and a brown almost orange cocker spaniel named Sheila. It’s very relaxing to walk them through a park. We generally go about a mile. I am refreshed when we get back to the house and, more than once, an idea or two has popped into my mind. However, I don’t walk holograms of dogs, so that was not an option. The second choice was playing golf.
I watched as Astrid swung and hammered the ball. It shot down the fairway, eased left in her familiar hook and bounced in the middle of the fairway. The first hole was an almost dead-straight away par 4 four hundred and fifty yards from the tee. It should have been an easy hole, but the green was protected by a wide, white front bunker and two other bunkers on the sides. You had to careful place your second shot or it would hit the sand or go over the green.
I grabbed the burgundy driver and walked on the tee. A slight wind blew over the tee, but not enough to sway the ball. I leaned into the drive, but my lack of practice showed. I didn’t trust the whack when the club hit the ball. It was slightly off. Not a solid sound a good golfer wants to hear. When I looked up, the ball was fading left.
“Don’t go in the rough,” I yelled. “Stay in the fairway.”
The ball, though, was not under my command and didn’t take orders well. It bounced on the short grass then ran into the much taller grass on the left side of the fairway.
“Shucks,” I said.
Astrid laughed and grabbed my chin. “I love a man who says ‘shucks’. I think that’s adorable.”
“Then you will really love me when the round is over. Looks like I’m going to be saying ‘shucks’ a lot.”
The ball wasn’t in too bad a lie. It lay on top of the brown semi-weeds. The lie wasn’t as good as being in the fairway, but it could have been a lot worse. It would be difficult to get any spin on the ball, but I should be able to knock it out of the rough without a problem.
Since the four inches shorter and a hundred and twenty point lighter Astrid outdrove me, I shot first. I was about twenty yards behind her.
I looked straight ahead. Three patches of white sand guarded the medium-size green; if I couldn’t get any spin on the ball it would be difficult to stop. If I hit the green, the ball would probably roll off and into the fringe. Which was better than being in one of the bunkers.
The rough was slippery, not like the fairway, but I dug in and swung. I didn’t like the sound of this whack either. As I say, the ball soared skyward and I thought it might land in the bunker. But perhaps a gust of wind helped and propelled it over the sand and onto the green. It hit and rolled. And rolled and rolled and then rolled a little more. I groaned. The ball vanished from sight, meaning it rolled over the green and, if I was fortunate, only in the fringe. If I wasn’t fortunate it was back in the fairway.
“You’re rusty, we have to get you out more,” she said.
She grabbed an eight-iron and stood over her ball. She made two practiced swings, then settled in. Her club swung and seemed to caress instead of slam the ball. It lifted gently in an arc and plopped gently two feet beyond the sand trap. It bounced toward the cup and rolled slowly about three feet by the hole.
“Great shot,” I said.
“Thank you. You gotta have a gentle touch around the green.”
“How true.”
I told her she didn’t have to wait for me. She could go ahead and put out. Which she did, scoring a birdie. I was looking at a possible bogey. The ball had rolled ten feet into the fairway. I grabbed my wedge. Usually I’m pretty good with it. The lie was good. The ball was sitting up almost completely on top of the Augustine grass. I didn’t think the grass would prevent a good swing.
I sighed and took a practice swing. A swoosh. Which sounded good. I looked at the green. I wanted to chip it to about twenty feet of the cup and let the ball roll the rest of the way.
“In the cup,” I said.
“Yes, we’ll see,” Astrid said, giving me a disbelieving grin.
When I took the club back the idea hit me. I was so excited I yelled and made a full swing. The ball zoomed forward and went twenty yards over the green. Astrid grinned.
“Think you put a little too much mustard on that one, honey,” she said.