Sunday, February 17, 2008
Ken McDonald, Again
So, yesterday, Saturday, we tried to play at Poston Butte . . . the price was right . . . the course was right for the ladies, and anyway, I wanted to take one last look in the leftover barrel for my Cobra PW that I'm sure I left there. Tho' the weather was only "mostly cloudy", it had rained so much the day before that the course was still wet, and it was cart-paths only: progress was very slow that afternoon . . .
When it had been 3 holes in an hour, Mr Science called the proshop and got a "rain check" for the slow play, so we adjourned to the Old Pueblo Cafe in downtown Florence for Consolation in margaritas and appetisers of Fluatitas, Chimichangitas, and Buffalo Chicken Wings. I am only joking when I say the second best place to eat in Florence is the Prison Cafeteria . . . 8^) . . .
Long way to drive for 3 holes of golf and some chips-&-salsa . . . 8^) . . .
So:
Sunday, just Mr Science & I went off to Ken McDonald again for 18 . . .
When our playing partners that day, the Boudrou Brothers from Chicago, bailed out after 2 holes had taken an hour, things looked very bleak to us . . . Mr Science complained, "That means the round will take 9 hours!"
Could we possibly be stalled out of our round twice in two days? . . . 8^0 . . . It was still very slow for the next 4 holes, but then the logjam broke up, and we actually finished our round just at dusk (after 5 1/2 hours) . . . .
Reading the description of our first trip to KM, I am struck that I only really want to talk about the last two holes again, they really are the only two holes that compare to Cave Creek . . .
#17 was 192 yds of all-carry today. Mr Science ripped his patented Magic 3iron on a rope to the center of the green, rolling up on the back tier to 8 ft from the pin. He looked at me and smiled ruefully, "That's the way I was hittin' 'em on the driving range . . . " He missed the birdie putt . . . he shook his head as if he'd had bad news from his automechanic, "that's my second missed birdie putt today" -- he expects more than 2 a day, if you see what I mean . . . meanwhile I pulled out my new cobra 7wood . . . I figgered my new 5wood was too much club to the down hill green, and besides it had betrayed me on two other holes today, already. Those clubs make a funny "tink" sound when I hit 'em . . . this one looked like a pro-shot, a high hook, over the pin and over the green, up onto the humps behind . . . 205, at least . . . so there seems to be a gap in my clubs now between 205 & 180 -- gonna have to do something about that . . . . I chipped the ball down the hump, one-hopped on the fringe with plenty of backspin, 5 ft past the hole, so I was pretty pleased, but I pulled that putt left, like so many this day -- probably had 5 or 6.
#18 tee shot didn't perplex me this time as much as last -- but I'm much more confident with my driver now. I hit a majestic fade into the wind that found the middle of the fairway -- the OB, the water, the pinched landing area did not bother me. But I chunked my 7 iron to 20 yds short of the green. My PW chip stopped 4 ft below the hole . . . good enough, one would have tho't, but I pulled that par putt left, too. . .8^( . . .
As we left the green I ejaculated, "I don't understand why I'm jerking those putts left now!'
Mr Science began, "I didn't want to tell you during the round, but . . . "
we interrupted ourselves to shake hands with Big Ed & Little Al, playing companions that had joined us when our other partners had quit. Big Ed was an amiable sort of competent, left-handed tho' he was, in the pleasurable phase of coaching his young teenager in golf. Little Al had a sweet, natural swing with a tendency to overhook -- a pleasure to watch him play, to see that he has before him a life-time of golf competency . . .
As we walked to the parking lots back across the CAP, I got Mr Science to continue, "What about my jerk-left putts?"
"Oh!" said Mr Science, "I was gonna tell you your pants are split up the back! Your underwear is showing!"
"Oh!" said I, "I know about that! It's these cheap pants Mrs Cactus bought me at Ross for $12 . . . I can't help that now, can I? Whajawant me to do? Quit and go home cuz my underwear shows?" . . . 8^D. . . he never did offer an opinion on my putting, but then, Mr Science finds analysis of my techniques a little painful . . . it's interesting to him, as a Golf Scientist, you see, but impossible the way that a bumblebee flying is impossible, if you see what I mean. . . 8^D. . .
The thing I didn't fit in was that on #12 (I think) Mr Science wound up against a wall on the left side of the rough, next to some houses. He yelled something at Big Ed and me. "What did he say?" asked Ed. "He wants to borrow one of your leftie clubs!" I told him with a barking laugh. When he looked over, he saw Mr Science taking practice swings with an upside down PW, lefthanded. "He can take a drop from that wall," he opined. . . "Nah," I replied, "that would violate our Calvinistic Paganican Principles!"
When it had been 3 holes in an hour, Mr Science called the proshop and got a "rain check" for the slow play, so we adjourned to the Old Pueblo Cafe in downtown Florence for Consolation in margaritas and appetisers of Fluatitas, Chimichangitas, and Buffalo Chicken Wings. I am only joking when I say the second best place to eat in Florence is the Prison Cafeteria . . . 8^) . . .
Long way to drive for 3 holes of golf and some chips-&-salsa . . . 8^) . . .
So:
Sunday, just Mr Science & I went off to Ken McDonald again for 18 . . .
When our playing partners that day, the Boudrou Brothers from Chicago, bailed out after 2 holes had taken an hour, things looked very bleak to us . . . Mr Science complained, "That means the round will take 9 hours!"
Could we possibly be stalled out of our round twice in two days? . . . 8^0 . . . It was still very slow for the next 4 holes, but then the logjam broke up, and we actually finished our round just at dusk (after 5 1/2 hours) . . . .
Reading the description of our first trip to KM, I am struck that I only really want to talk about the last two holes again, they really are the only two holes that compare to Cave Creek . . .
#17 was 192 yds of all-carry today. Mr Science ripped his patented Magic 3iron on a rope to the center of the green, rolling up on the back tier to 8 ft from the pin. He looked at me and smiled ruefully, "That's the way I was hittin' 'em on the driving range . . . " He missed the birdie putt . . . he shook his head as if he'd had bad news from his automechanic, "that's my second missed birdie putt today" -- he expects more than 2 a day, if you see what I mean . . . meanwhile I pulled out my new cobra 7wood . . . I figgered my new 5wood was too much club to the down hill green, and besides it had betrayed me on two other holes today, already. Those clubs make a funny "tink" sound when I hit 'em . . . this one looked like a pro-shot, a high hook, over the pin and over the green, up onto the humps behind . . . 205, at least . . . so there seems to be a gap in my clubs now between 205 & 180 -- gonna have to do something about that . . . . I chipped the ball down the hump, one-hopped on the fringe with plenty of backspin, 5 ft past the hole, so I was pretty pleased, but I pulled that putt left, like so many this day -- probably had 5 or 6.
#18 tee shot didn't perplex me this time as much as last -- but I'm much more confident with my driver now. I hit a majestic fade into the wind that found the middle of the fairway -- the OB, the water, the pinched landing area did not bother me. But I chunked my 7 iron to 20 yds short of the green. My PW chip stopped 4 ft below the hole . . . good enough, one would have tho't, but I pulled that par putt left, too. . .8^( . . .
As we left the green I ejaculated, "I don't understand why I'm jerking those putts left now!'
Mr Science began, "I didn't want to tell you during the round, but . . . "
we interrupted ourselves to shake hands with Big Ed & Little Al, playing companions that had joined us when our other partners had quit. Big Ed was an amiable sort of competent, left-handed tho' he was, in the pleasurable phase of coaching his young teenager in golf. Little Al had a sweet, natural swing with a tendency to overhook -- a pleasure to watch him play, to see that he has before him a life-time of golf competency . . .
As we walked to the parking lots back across the CAP, I got Mr Science to continue, "What about my jerk-left putts?"
"Oh!" said Mr Science, "I was gonna tell you your pants are split up the back! Your underwear is showing!"
"Oh!" said I, "I know about that! It's these cheap pants Mrs Cactus bought me at Ross for $12 . . . I can't help that now, can I? Whajawant me to do? Quit and go home cuz my underwear shows?" . . . 8^D. . . he never did offer an opinion on my putting, but then, Mr Science finds analysis of my techniques a little painful . . . it's interesting to him, as a Golf Scientist, you see, but impossible the way that a bumblebee flying is impossible, if you see what I mean. . . 8^D. . .
The thing I didn't fit in was that on #12 (I think) Mr Science wound up against a wall on the left side of the rough, next to some houses. He yelled something at Big Ed and me. "What did he say?" asked Ed. "He wants to borrow one of your leftie clubs!" I told him with a barking laugh. When he looked over, he saw Mr Science taking practice swings with an upside down PW, lefthanded. "He can take a drop from that wall," he opined. . . "Nah," I replied, "that would violate our Calvinistic Paganican Principles!"
