The Streak
The Pats are in camp this week and it’s the first time since the big game copyrighted by the en eff el I’ve thought about how 18-0 became a joke. Streaks are destined to end, but some, like the consecutive scoreless run I’m on sure seem to keep themselves alive. Speaking of a long-ass streak, my baby brother has never beaten me on the golf course. Ever. Yeah, there was that time he hung with me through 18 while he had a testicle ascended into his left lung, but still, an “L” is an “L” whether you’ve got one nut or three. Lance Armstrong won 7 consecutive Tour de France, but enough about the one shy of a pair thing.
Even swinging with both boys descended, Corey has been unable to prevail. Sunday’s contest at Templeton’s Templewood Test Track was no exception. Lil’ Bro had a four stroke lead after two, but was down one after 4 in a furious contest of wild inconsistency. As we puffed “Acid” spice infused cigars, the match turned on the par 3 7th when I skulled an 8 iron just enough to cruise it on a line over an 80 yard pond, hop the bank and roll, pin high onto the green. Yep. Dumb luck. The par gave me a two stroke lead I didn’t give back. The truth is, if Corey could putt, he’d win a lot, but he can’t, so he doesn’t.
A couple ugly incidents marred the afternoon’s stroke fest, including a vain breach of the gentleman’s game etiquette by yours truly… Templewood’s Number 6 is a wide, downhill 405 par 4. After holding back all day to minimize my slice, I announced, “Boys, I’m lettin’ her rip.” Some commentary about the woods ensued, but I silenced the critics with a booming drive that sliced less than usual and landed 55 yards beyond Corey’s 200 yarder. Here’s where things went, um, downhill. During a Dad backswing, loud talking by an unruly gallery member (Kyle), prompted a large clump of turf, a 20 yard dribbler, and a piercing scowl from the Senior Circuit member. We called it a grandson mulligan and let “Papa” replay shot # 2 with the extra yardage as a bonus.
Still obsessed with the majesty of my drive, we raced toward it where I proceeded to loft it high with my 7-iron. Then I hit another just short of the green. On the green, Corey spoke with the dryness of a bottle of red wine chased with several bong hits and stale Pringles: “We were going to say something about you committing a breach of etiquette by shooting before Dad and me who were behind you, but when we saw your second shot sail into the woods we decided to let it go…”
I apologized and learned a lesson there. When playing golf, take your time. The woods/water/sand will still be there when it’s finally your turn.
Even swinging with both boys descended, Corey has been unable to prevail. Sunday’s contest at Templeton’s Templewood Test Track was no exception. Lil’ Bro had a four stroke lead after two, but was down one after 4 in a furious contest of wild inconsistency. As we puffed “Acid” spice infused cigars, the match turned on the par 3 7th when I skulled an 8 iron just enough to cruise it on a line over an 80 yard pond, hop the bank and roll, pin high onto the green. Yep. Dumb luck. The par gave me a two stroke lead I didn’t give back. The truth is, if Corey could putt, he’d win a lot, but he can’t, so he doesn’t.
A couple ugly incidents marred the afternoon’s stroke fest, including a vain breach of the gentleman’s game etiquette by yours truly… Templewood’s Number 6 is a wide, downhill 405 par 4. After holding back all day to minimize my slice, I announced, “Boys, I’m lettin’ her rip.” Some commentary about the woods ensued, but I silenced the critics with a booming drive that sliced less than usual and landed 55 yards beyond Corey’s 200 yarder. Here’s where things went, um, downhill. During a Dad backswing, loud talking by an unruly gallery member (Kyle), prompted a large clump of turf, a 20 yard dribbler, and a piercing scowl from the Senior Circuit member. We called it a grandson mulligan and let “Papa” replay shot # 2 with the extra yardage as a bonus.
Still obsessed with the majesty of my drive, we raced toward it where I proceeded to loft it high with my 7-iron. Then I hit another just short of the green. On the green, Corey spoke with the dryness of a bottle of red wine chased with several bong hits and stale Pringles: “We were going to say something about you committing a breach of etiquette by shooting before Dad and me who were behind you, but when we saw your second shot sail into the woods we decided to let it go…”
I apologized and learned a lesson there. When playing golf, take your time. The woods/water/sand will still be there when it’s finally your turn.
posted by fifteenkey at 6:08 AM
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