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Wednesday, April 09, 2008

 

Kokopelli Impressions

Played twice last weekend: on Saturday, with just Mr Science at Cave Creek, then on Sunday, with Ms Science & Ms Cactus.
We hadn't played in a coupla weeks, since we scored at the Safeway last week, so my expectations were low . . . at least for the front9, especially on the short game, but I was on fire with the flat stick -- just as I had been when we had finally gotten back to Poston Butte a few weeks ago . . . there, to start off, on the first 3 holes I was 1 under, with 3 putts, and then I chipped in to save bogey on #4 . . . I didn't expect to finish 6 under for 18, and I didn't, but I putted well the whole day -- I was 2 over after the first 5 holes, when I finally hit one close and made the birdie putt, then on the par5 #7, I was green high in two, but on the wrong side of a greenside bunker on a bare, hardpan knob; I managed to lob my ball just over the trap, just 10 ft past the cup, then make that for 2 birdies in a row, so I was even par after 7.

If that's not a personal best, it's been so long that it might as well have been, but I doublebogied #8 & #9 (in bad luck, I claim!), to wind up with a 40. On the back 9 I had a couple of whiffs and a couple of chunked wedges that mitigated my fantastic driving and putting, wound up with an 83, unable to make any more birdies.

When I tried to complain to Mr Science, "If I can't straighten out my drives, tho', I'm going to have a hell of a time at Sanctuary!", he just grumbled that he'd an 87, even with a birdie on #18.

So, apparently he was on a mission the next day at The Sanctuary, where we had a free foursome, thanks to the QOG winning a raffle at one of her tournaments . . . there may be something in this life sweeter than Free Golf, but I don't know what it is . . . maybe that was what inspired Mr Science, especially, appealing especially to his Calvinistic Parsimony . . . at any rate he had a kick-in birdie on the first hole, then 16 pars and a double bogey, for a 73.

I had had visions of breaking my personal best for starts . . . I didn't see why if I could get to #8 even par why I couldn't finish even par . . . I KNOW exactly what I want to do on every hole there, it's just a matter of keeping it out of the desert and making the putts, I figger. . . but I double-bogeyed the first two holes and never quite got untracked . . . no birdies, but I counted 11 missed-birdie-putts, which is prob'ly another personal "best" . . . prob'ly had, if you count texas wedges, 7 3putts, too, including a missed eagle putt on #11, where I had to settle for par . . . finished with an 87, which was hard for me to be positive about, tho' I had been vaguely pleased with my ironplay for a change -- it was inaccurate, but at least they looked like golf shots instead of hockey shots.

I always have to talk about #18. I'd looked forward to it all day, since I'd never played with my new cobra metals there, and I was pretty confident that if I could get into the fairway off the tee, I could reach the green in two, especially since it was with the wind. But both Mr Science & I hit into the bunker on the slice side of the dogleg left. Scratch going for the green. Manfully taking my medicine I just hit a 7iron to get it over the lip, over the arroyo that divides the fairway, in position for a wedge to the green, but it caught the lip and rolled up to the very edge of the arroyo. I decided I wasn't upset, since now, 215 yds away I could still hit my 5metal, which was slightly right of the green, but bounced right up onto the corner of the green, about 15 ft from the pin. Meanwhile, Mr Science hit a great shot out of the trap about 125 from the pin, but -- understanding that his heart must have been pounding a little bit with the anticipation that another birdie would get him an even-par finish -- his approach came up short-right; well, it's semi-automatic for him to get up-and-down from such a lie, but he had to be a little disappointed . . . still, he proudly showed me his card in the parking lot.

"What?" I said, unable to parse the chicken scratches he puts down.
"Just the top number," he said, pointing to the 73.
"OH!" I ejaculated. "That's purty good, idn't?"

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