The incongruity of it all

Two golf course incidents in the last several months remain high on my mind, so I thought I'd share them with you, dear reader.

1. Back in early September, on my last day of vacation at Bandon Dunes, second round for the day, this one at the new Bandon Trails masterpiece by Coore and Crenshaw, after a light lunch (but including a couple of beers), Betty and I rushed to the first tee to make our 1:50p tee time. I join a couple of guys on the tee - they're already standing on the "championship" box, which is where I want to play from too - and while I'm rooting through my bag for ball, tee and glove, they hit solid drives that bounce this way and that but end up in the fairway.

Not me. I neck a diver that carries about 100 yards then bounces and rolls along the left dunes, coming to rest in a footprint undoubtedly left by Sasquatch, the original "Big Foot." I gouge it out, wedge my third onto the green, sink a 20- or 25-footer for par, and head for the second tee.

The second is a longish par 3, a short 215 yards downwind this day. I again hit third, after my two playing partners hit solid shots onto the green. I wave at this tee shot, what I call a "flair," a high, soft, harmless (to anyone watching) cut that goes almost nowhere and lands a full 30 yards short and right of the green. After an average lob wedge and two putts, I have a respectable bogey on the card where not one of the shots might be referred to as such..."respectable."

After another necked-diver tee shot on the third hole, one of the two guys I've now known for about 30 minutes - but whom I've hardly seen since meeting them on the first tee - sidles up to me as we walk with our caddies toward the fairway and says, "You know, just because Jim (the other guy) and I are playing the back tees, it's okay, if you want to move up to the forwards."

Not the least embarrassed - but now both amused and challenged - I looked at my round through a new pair of eyes. I knew I'd start hitting the ball solid soon, but for me there was new incentive. And every golfer who feels even the slightest urge to play competitively, gets motivated by something in the game. It's more than pride or ego. Our game was on.

By the way Bandon Trails is a magnificent course. Here's a look - from the fairway, no less - at the last 175 yards on the short (325 from the, ahem, back tees) par 4, number 14:


2. The second golf-related incident that keeps popping in my head occurred at Bulls Bay's club championship just last week. I knew I wouldn't contend for the championship itself, but my competitive Jones keeps me playing in the top flight. On the first day I'm paired with a member sporting a +5 handicap, an aspiring Champion's Tour player. I'm not playing badly, but I'm also not making anything on the greens (and to shoot a good score, I have to be putting well). Coming to number 12, a 180-yard par 3 over water, I'm five over. My tee shot flairs (again, an ugly "flair") and catches a finger of the hazard after crossing land near the green. I drop, punch a long, low pitch (7-iron) over two ridges in the green, scooting about 25-30 yards and coming to rest no more than 15 inches behind the cup. I want to tap in, but I'd be standing in both their lines, so I mark. By the time they miss their birdie putts - and one of them misses the par comebacker - I have kind of lost interest in the putt, already thinking ahead to a tough tee shot on 13. And, yes, I miss, miss a putt just over a foot, a certainty for anyone except, perhaps, Vijay (and now, John Daly).

The +5, aspiring Champions Tour player says to me as we walk off, "Aw, Mark, that putt was good. I'm giving you 4 there." I think he's kidding, so I laugh, walk on, but continue the expletive-laced lashing I'm giving myself under my breath. "No," he says, "there are players out here today who are taking putts like that and worse. That was good. I'm giving you that one."

I stop, look at him with both appreciation for his concern but primarily horror that he's serious. I say to him: "You obviously don't know me very well. That just can't happen, and if you write down 4, I'll change it to 5. You wouldn't do it, would you? Well, neither would I."

We compete not only to win, but also to see how we measure up against our own expectations, against the golf course and conditions. In both cases - the sanctimonious suggestion that I shouldn't feel intimidated by guys on the back tees or the condescending assurance that a botched tap-in can be forgotten with a "shucks, that was good" from a player who doesn't feel threatened by my presence in the field - these kinds of things tell us as much about ourselves as they do about the ones we know and play with.

I love golf, love what the game offers, not the least of which is a way to find how we live with ourselves.