Been reading here awhile, time to take the leap. This seems like an excellent way to keep up with my progress, and avoid boring my wife…”we’re not going the whole 18, are we?”

A bit about m’self, in case I ever forget who I am. I’m 44, but breathing heavily on the back of the neck of 45. I’ve been playing for two years now, and trying to make up for lost time. I’ve absolutely fallen in love with this game! My pro’s been working with me on turning my hands through the ball, trying to hit more of a draw. When it clicks, it’s a thing of beauty, more distance, lovely ball flight. Sometimes, I yank it left and long, but it’s coming along. I break 90 fairly regularly, and have gotten to the point that anything in the mid-90’s is a disappointment. But, as I’m a Cubs fan, I’m used to disappointment. Sigh.

I got 9 in the other day, on a warm day when it had been dry for about a week, so I got lots and lots of roll on the drives. And…away we go!

Par on the front: 35
First—par 4 371
Whoops! Drive waaaay right, deep and over in the adjacent fairway. Well, I can always console myself with the nice distance. Hmmm…two options here. Try to thread a low shooter through the trees separating the fairways at this point, or punch sideways back up to my fairway. Sighing, I take my medicine, and punch sideways. At least I’m back in my own short grass, with about 70 yards left. A nice pitch shot gets me on, the putt rolls by (read too much break again), just a foot or so. I clean it up for a bogey, and feel pretty good about it. Apparently, playing it safe out of trouble really does work!

Second—par 4 385
Houston, we have liftoff!! An absolute launch!! I hold the pose, transfixed by Mr. Callaway’s flight…right on line, a slight draw, and thanks to the dry fairways, a good bit of roll. I can hardly wait to hoof it down there and see how far that baby went! 100 left, so that means…285! Egad! Ah, the beauty of dry hard fairways! Naturally, I chunk the wedge, but make a decent chip to 6 feet, and nail the putt for a par! The extra practice on the short game saves my bacon again.

Third—par 4 a short 270
Bit of an uphill then downhill, you can’t see the green from the tee box, but you can see the top of the flag. The big thing on this hole is for the big hitters to drive the green. If I get the kind of roll I’ve been getting, it could happen. I fill my head with positive thoughts, and bingo! Another good drive! Down the middle, nice flight…that’s got a chance! It’s an excited Dunk that has to restrain himself from running down the fairway to check it out. I top the rise, and my ball is nowhere to be seen…it should be right here on the front. Might have kicked to the left, with the slope here, that happens…hm…nothing. Gadzooks! It didn’t roll in the creek on this side, did it? Nope. So where…hey, there’s a ball…15 yards off the back of the green! Nah, couldn’t be. It is. I didn’t drive the green, I rolled it straight through and 15 off the back! I’m so psyched I can’t possibly view this as a misfortune. That ball traveled almost 300 yards! Yeah, about 50 was roll…but 300 is 300! I manage to calm down long enough to make a decent chip and two putt for par.

Fourth—par 4 425
Wild visions of qualifying for the senior tour dance through my brain as I stroll to the tee box, hearing the announcer in my head. “Dunk is really striking the ball today.” I do feel grooved, and launch another good drive. That pro is a genius! In the middle, right by the 150 marker! Now, for the 7 iron. Since I hit nothing but 7’s for two weeks, working on the swing change, this is in the bag! That is, until I yank it long and left into the next fairway, if not the next county! Oh well, at least I made good contact. The pitch is short, the chip is ok, a couple of putts later and I’ve got my bogey.
All that work on the short game is really paying off. Inside 50 yards, I always feel as though I’ve got a chance.

Fifth--The first par 3 downhill 184
Oops! Yank-a-roo! It might be, it could be, it is!! A home run!! Well, it would be in Wrigley. Here, it’s another 60 yard pitch shot from way to the left to a sloping green. Good news—I hit my tee shot on this hole here quite often, so I’m familiar with the shot. Bad news—I’m over here so often, they’ve put up a “Dunk Memorial Ashtray” on the spot, so I can leisurely have a smoke while I size up yet another 50-60 yard pitch from this area.
Practice makes perfect, though, and I’m over here so much, I can hit this blindfolded! Two putts (look, doofus, there’s never as much break as you read, get that through that thick noggin) and I escape with a bogey. Cue the dramatic music as we approach…number 6! The dreaded dogleg!

Sixth—par 4 90 degree dogleg right, over a creek
374, 210 to the water, but it’s a tight shot at the corner, with OB and a cranky old man on the right of the corner, and trees on the other side. The best shot is to land it safely on the left of the corner and the creek, without going through the fairway into the pines. If you try to cut the corner and miss right, it’s ancient trees, the creek, or the cranky old man’s back yard, with a high chain link fence, complete with razor wire. Yes, you read that right. Razor wire, as in prison wall, as in there-ain’t-no-way-you’re-climbing-my-fence-to-get-that-ball-back. Did I mention he’s cranky? Crusty old codger not withstanding, I decide to go for it. I’m feelin’ it, old man…I’m feelin’ it. Just need to get a touch of fade, and the way I’ve hit the driver today, I can do this.

the announcer returns…”dunk is going for the corner here, he needs a soft fade, it’s a narrow area, but the way he’s been hitting the driver…” ah, a positive thought!
It’s got a chance! The ball disappears around the edge of the trees, I actually lean forward, as if that will help me hear whether I clip a branch or sail through cleanly. I don’t hear anything, but years of misspent youth in the rock arena could be responsible for that. At least I didn’t get it over the prison wall, there’s no coming back from that. WooHoo!! As I near the corner, there’s Mr. Callaway, grinning back at me from the short grass! Of course, there are no witnesses, but I did it!

Drat! Must…slow…down…take…time…after a good drive. Rushed the wedge, but a good chip leaves me with a foot long putt. Yes, birdie could have been mine, but at my level, a par feels pretty durn good.

Seventh par 4 388 uphill to the right about 30 degrees
The hardest hole on the course

Brimming with confidence, I tip my hat to the gallery, grin shyly as my caddy hands me the Big Dog, and bask in the hush as I go into my pre-shot routine on the tee…well, there’s no caddy or gallery, but the way I’m playing there oughta be! Get ready, Mr. Hardest Hole…doh!
Popped it up! A mile in the air, and waaay short! Well, let’s see…288 left…I’m guessing about a 6 iron…we go with the 3 wood, try to leave myself a short pitch…ahhhh, sweet!
Sailing into the clear blue sky, right where I want it to go…popped up drive? What popped up drive?
One decent pitch and two putts later, another bogey goes into the bag…I may get my limit today, boys…

Eighth par 3 192
Elevated tiny green, creek in the back, a tree that must have planted by Daniel Boone on the right, lurking, waiting to eat any ball that fades off the to the right.

Been having trouble getting the draw to come around on the long irons, so I aim and play for the fade. Of course, I get pure contact, swing just right, and I’m transfixed by the trajectory, the subtle right-to-left ballflight. Wow! Did I hit that? The realization that I’m about to fly the green over the left side sobers me up, but who cares? Didja see that ballflight?

I hit the back corner of the green, and trickle to the bottom of the hill, so it’s not so bad. Good opportunity to try that flop shot again, goodness knows I’ve practiced it often enough. Cazart!! Soft landing, a bit of roll, and I’ve got a one-footer for par!!

Must…not…add…up…scorecard…the struggle within myself is titanic now… One supreme act of will later, I stand on the ninth tee, scorecard demon successfully avoided.

Ninth par 5 585 narrow fairway
The Big Dog decides to eat here…sadly, he decided to order the pine. No draw, the big pull left like a rocket! If there were no trees, that thing might roll to the clubhouse…but there ARE trees, and there’s that sound. If I were playing baseball, that THWACK of ball meeting wood would be so sweet! Out here…well, come to think of it, it does sound cool!

My lie is not so cool, however. Right at the base of a tree, in such a way that all I can hope to do is take an unplayable lie, or whack down on it, and hope to advance it even a little, while getting back to the fairway. Whack it is. So, we’ve got 350 or so left (I’m so far back, I’m in no-marker-land) but it is a gentle downhill slope. Time for the 3 wood again, and this one is a beauty! I’ll never regret shelling out the dough for this one! The cheers are deafening as I stroll triumphantly down the fairway. Ok, a squirrel tried to brain me with an acorn, but in my head, the cheers are deafening…

100 yards, I got this shot, and I do. 30 feet, breaks about a cup to the right…I got this putt. And I would, if only I’d remembered that I’m reading too much break…my ball coasts to a stop, about two inches to the left of the hole, right beside it. Oh, I laugh to keep from crying! Still, bogeying this hole isn’t bad, especially given the bad lie I had for my second shot.

All right. Light a celebratory smoke, and whip out the pencil. Let’s see…five and four is nine…40?? Nah, I must have added wrong.
Nope! It’s 40!! Best ever!! Holy Cow!!!

Work on putting, and WORK ON HITTING GREENS!!

What’s that?? It’s a beer! And it’s calling my name….