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FORE!!

Golf is a seductively frustrating sport to be played recreationally. This was never more apparent to me than this weekend. I smashed it up with the White River Golf Club at the two courses at Suncadia Resort in Cle Elum. You see, my co-worker / bro, Ron, invited me to be his +1 for this two-day tournament. As of the invite, I hadn't been to Suncadia and always wanted to go.

When I'm assigned to a group on any golf course, I'm asked the usual housekeeping questions.


  • Have you played here before?
  • What are you hitting today?
  • How long have you been playing?
  • And do you have a handicap?


I answer the questions - Yes/No, Callaway, not long enough and yes, 35. My handicap is usually met with an eyebrow raise (34.9 is high) I follow up with that I recognize that it's high but more trips golfing would remedy it.

I called golf seductively frustrating because I'll crush a ball off the tee by promptly hooking my second shot into the damn woods! It's shit like that draws in my competitive spirit yet holds me with a grip of inconsistent play. It frustrates me greatly, but it's directly related to my consistency of golf.

I have none.

It's a combination of reasons really. Time (4-5 hours), money ($50+), and my expectation (only want to play for fun) If I played as if I was on the Tour, then I'd step up. At the end of the day, I am not that good at golf. I quipped on the golf course, when the other three were bragging how they shot straight with x brand of driver or y type of wood, "The only thing I shoot straight is WHISKEY!"

They laughed.

So I'm left with memories like the following:

Picture this. Suncadia, bright sunny day. Rope Rider Course, 18th hole. This is the 36th hole of golf I've played in two days. I'm near the green after my approach shot. The green is on a rise. My pitching wedge and I have been arguing all weekend. I put it in time out in my bag on the 10th hole. My chipper has been my friend ever since. The boys had been chuckling about it.

While wielding my chipper, and walking up to the ball, I felt my group and the golf cart attendant watching me.

No pressure!

I lined up my shot. I smacked it with a bit of force to get it on the green. The ball rose into the air, landed two feet from the pin, rolled fast, hit the pole and dropped in. My hands shot to the sky sans chipper. I heard golf claps above my exclamation, 'That's for par, bitches!'

The first, last and only one of the weekend. Am I golfing again? Sadly, yes I am. This has been your C Note.

'los; out

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