Golfing Newbie Shows Potential

I've discovered a sport where you get to drive carts, carry clubs and whack the heck out of little white, dimpled balls over a vast expanse of land that is riddled with little holes. It's called golf.

Incidentally, that is also my newest adjective that I have managed to acquire -- golfer. You can add that adjective to the rather large list of adjectives that currently describe me.

I have been playing long enough, though, to know which end of the club you use to hit the ball. Also, the balls are supposed to be aimed at the little holes scattered randomly around the grounds.

It seems one of the most important rules of the game of golf is that you don't hit just any white, dimpled balls you find laying around. Somehow, you have to be able to differentiate your white, dimpled ball from all the others scattered around the landscape. You can only hit your own white, dimpled ball. This adds a serious degree of difficulty to the game.

The good news, though, is that I am destined to be a great golfer. My reasoning behind this revelation is rock solid.

To the best of my knowledge, all the greatest golfers have a signature move or gesture that sets them apart from the rest of the pack of wannabe greats.

I already have a signature move -- my swing! While it has not yet been compared with, say, Tiger Woods or Andre Agassi, it has attracted a bit of attention from my golf partner and other fellow golfers.

I call my signature swing 'the Mongo' for it's strength and ferocity. My golf partner and friend simply calls it unique. I overheard some golfers playing through one day refer to someone as a "seizure with a stick." I hope whoever they were talking about is okay.

On top of all that, I've been known to hit that little white, dimpled ball nearly 100 yards off the tee with my biggest club. Now that is impressive!

As you can see, my game shows a lot of promise and potential. My partner says I can only go up from here!

I am a little worried, though, since I simply don't know if I will have time to write once I join the pro circuit.

Nothing Good Comes From the Side of the Road

My wife has mandated a new driving rule: there is to be absolutely no talk of any road side spectacles. Period. This seems to be a direct response to my habit of noticing animals, either dead or alive, on the sides of the road. A peculiar byproduct of that habit is my seeming inability to not mention what I've seen in exquisite detail to everyone who may have missed it. Either my wife is jealous that she didn't get to see it or she simply wishes to not see or know about it.

And I have seen it all, too. I've seen live coyote, deer, rabbits, hawks, opossum, skunks, raccoon, snakes, squirrel and various dogs and cats. And, sadly enough, I've seen all the above and more squished flat upon the many highways and byways of North Carolina. Even worse are the pieces and parts that remain behind in various states of decomposition. Frightening are those insane people who look hard enough to try to identify the animal from remains at the side of the road.

"Wow, honey! Judging from that back leg and tail, I would guess that that was a raccoon and it was hit by a cement truck driving south, just on top of the yellow line, at nearly 55 miles per hour! Notice how the intesti--OOWW!!"
"Nothing good comes from the side of the road," my wife would respond after a serious left jab to my right shoulder. "If you'd watch the road instead, your family wouldn't be so afraid to ride with you in the car."

Long car rides are really rough on my right shoulder. Regardless, a moratorium has been placed on any audio commentary from the vehicle operator concerning any spectacles from the side of the road. The only exception being signs pointing out food, restrooms or shopping areas. I've been informed that there will be consequences if this rule is broken. I fully intend to break that rule just to test those consequences, but I haven't yet worked up the nerve.