The Worst Par I Ever Had
Atlanta, GA
April 10, 2021
Jesus, Moses, and an old man step to the tee on an over-the-water par-3. Jesus tees off first, and hits into the trap on the other side of the pond. Being Jesus, he walks across the lake, chips from the sand, and taps in for His par.
Next Moses hits, and lands in the same trap. Shaking off his frustration, Moses parts the pond, and walks to his ball. Like Jesus, he chips to the green, and saves his par.
Finally, the old man hits. As the ball heads toward the lake, a fish jumps up, and snags it in his mouth. Before the fish returns to the water, a bird swoops down, and grabs it. As the bird circles the green, a bolt of lightning strikes it, and dislodges the the fish from his talons. When the fish hits the green, the ball pops free, and rolls into the cup for a hole-in-one.
Jesus sighs and shakes His head. He then turns impatiently to the old man and says, “Dad, will you quit screwing around and just play golf?”
I started playing golf when I was twelve. Since that time, I’ve never had a hole-in-one. I’ve had balls hit the pin, or roll past. But never, with one swing, have they fallen in.
The closest was a few years ago, at Summit Country Club, outside Toronto. From about 170 yards, the shot flew majestically from right to left. Clouds parted, goddesses swooned, and angels sang.
When the ball was in mid-flight, one of my playing partners simply asserted “that’s in the hole!” I laughed. But he wasn’t kidding.
The ball landed on the side of the green, followed its contour, and stopped within a shot glass of the cup. A gust of wind, small earthquake, or passing train could’ve knocked it in…which was more irritating than invigorating. I was unlikely to ever get that close again. So the one time I did, it needed to drop!
Not that it was a total loss. I made birdie, albeit the most disappointing one of my life.
In my family, the ability to score an ace seems to skip a generation. My mother has one, tho’ when she got it she thought nothing of continuing to play with the same ball. Act like you’ve been there before…and as if you will be again.
My younger son also has a hole-in-one. As does his mother, who hit hers in college…the first time (on the first hole!) she ever played. Mastering the game in one swing was apparently inadequate glory for my wife. So now, she’s taking lessons.
On Monday, from the Battle House Hotel, we crossed Mobile Bay to lovely Point Clear, AL…where we spent two days at the Grand Hotel. The resort fills a small peninsula just south of the charming town of Fairhope, and across the street from the Lakewood Golf Club.
Featuring two beautiful 18-hole layouts, Lakewood is the furthest south of the stops on the Robert Trent Jones Trail. David and I played the Azalea course on Tuesday, while Rita took lessons that morning and the following day.
Golf was our primary purpose for coming to the Grand. But the property also features a large pool, a small beach, and several restaurants. Around the property are pedestrian paths with beautiful views of lovely homes and gorgeous sunsets over the surrounding bay.
We returned to Atlanta Wednesday afternoon, with a brief stop in Auburn to join Alexander for dinner. We met at the bowling alley where he works, and where he is part of a league. They were playing that night, so by the time we arrived he had only an hour to visit.
I’m glad we did. Auburn eliminated spring break this year, instead adding a week to Christmas vacation, so Alexander was unable to join us in Mobile. But he’s happy in Auburn, and wants to stay this summer to continue working and perhaps take a class. We’ll see.
As Alexander geared up to bowl, we met a couple of his friends, and said good bye to him. He has a few more weeks in his semester, so we expect we’ll see him again later this month or early in May. We hopped back on the highway, and finished the drive home.
By playing this week at Magnolia Grove and at Lakewood, I redeemed a long overdue debt. When David started playing golf, I told him that after he broke a hundred I’d give him a weekend on the Robert Trent Jones Trail. He upheld his end of the bargain years ago. This week, at long last, I finally fulfilled mine.
Jerry made a similar agreement with me when I started playing. Only his offer was for a new set of clubs. And he made sure I had them within days of me achieving my double-digit score. As he told me at the time, “fast pay makes fast friends.”
Notwithstanding my negligence, David and I are still friends. But after watching him play, I realized he was long overdue for a prize similar to the one Jerry gave me.
David has always had a good swing, and hit the ball well. But not particularly far. And he was having to crouch way too low to use his shorter irons. It was past time for new clubs. The Kids’ set he’d been using was inadequate…and embarrassing.
So Thursday, we went to the golf shop. David tried several sets of irons, a couple drivers, and a few putters. Early that afternoon, new versions of each filled his bag. Later that afternoon, we had a tee time the next morning to break them in.
Yesterday dawned cloudy and cool. Dew covered the ground as we pulled up to the pro shop at The Frog, a beautiful Tom Fazio course about an hour west of Atlanta. I’d heard great things about the course, but had never played it.
The setting, amid an Audubon Sanctuary and Wildlife Preserve, is idyllic. The layout is challenging, but fair. And the fairways and greens were in good condition. A few holes in, the dew evaporated, the clouds burned away, and the outer garments came off. It was a beautiful day.
The course wasn’t crowded, and we played at a nice pace. And the people couldn’t have been nicer. When the cart girl came by, I asked if she had coffee. She apologized that she didn’t, but then offered to ride back to the clubhouse and bring me some.
I told her..in the half-hearted manner of someone insisting he pick up a large dinner tab…that she need not do that. She caught my drift. A couple holes later she arrived with hot coffee and several servings of cream.
Had she arrived a few minutes earlier, she would’ve seen David narrowly miss the second hole-in-one of his illustrious golfing career. On the third hole, with his new 8-iron, my son knocked his 145 yard shot within eight inches of the cup. It was, he said, “annoyingly close”. As it was, he settled for a tap-in birdie.
A few hours later, not to be outdone by my uppity son, I pulled my 7-iron from the bag on the par-3 16th. The swing was smooth, the shot pure. The ball landed gently on the green, and eased cautiously and circuitously toward the pin…like a nervous ninth grader to a pretty girl on the other side of the dance floor.
And, as is so often the case, it came up short. Approaching the green, David noted that the ball was even closer than we’d thought. “Annoyingly close”, as he aptly described his own near-miss earlier in the day. While not so close as his, my ball was barely more than two feet away.
Yet I’ve matured since my close call in Toronto a few years ago. Golf isn’t everything. There’s more to life than holes-in-one. It was just nice being on a beautiful course, on a gorgeous day, with my wonderful son. I certainly wasn’t about to let a great golf shot frustrate me.
Besides, making shots only builds egos. It’s missing them that builds character! I’ve come to realize that being overly concerned about golf is silly and juvenile. And, like St. Paul, I’ve put aside such childish things.
After David putted out, I approached my ball and prepared for the perfunctory tap in. Soon thereafter, I reached into the hole, and picked up my ball.
Then I walked off the green…with the worst par I’ve ever had.
JD
