On behalf of weekend golfers and two-bit hackers everywhere, please accept my hearty "welcome to the club!" By missing three makeable par putts Monday at Canoe Brook, late in your attempt to play your way into the men's U.S. Open at Winged Foot, you punched your ticket into our not-so-exclusive club.
This might be the only thing in the whole wide world you and I have in common, Michelle. I know nothing about being a teenaged golf phenom, or indeed about being a teenaged girl at all, for that matter. I do have a little experience dealing with teenaged girls, Michelle, having two daughters of my own, and I can tell you that you people are hard to understand most of the time.
But missing par putts? Now you're talking my language. Standing over an eight foot knee-knocker with the absolute, unshakeable certainty that you've read the break perfectly, then watching in disbelief as the ball slides past the hole on the short side, oh yeah, I've been there.
At least you didn't hold up the group behind you by placing your ball back in the same spot you missed from after putting out and trying it again, convinced that somehow the laws of physics had been temporarily suspended when you tried it that first time, only to discover that, against all odds, those laws of physics mysteriously disappeared again on your retry and the damn ball did the same exact thing. I hear some jokers do that, Michelle, not that you or I ever would.
Oh I know you were playing under a lot more pressure than I've ever faced on the course Michelle, but it's not like it's always been a piece of cake out there for me either. Pressure? I can tell you a few stories about pressure. A couple of years ago the course marshal at Trull Brook happened to be motoring by on his little golf cart with the orange flag flying behind it, when he stopped and watched as I was facing a tricky chip shot over a bunker onto the green.
Well, Michelle, I sank that chip shot, right over the sand and into the hole. As my playing partners were whooping it up, I had to pass right by the marshal. He could sense frustration on my part instead of excitement and as I walked by his cart, he asked, "was that to save par?" "Triple bogey," I muttered as I continued my death march to the next tee, steadfastly refusing to meet his eye. So as you can see, I know a thing or two about pressure myself, Michelle.
Now I'm not saying we're the same kind of golfer, don't get me wrong. You probably stand over more putts for par or better in one weekend than I do in a whole season of golf. The only thing I use my three iron for is to ward off rabid small animals with as I'm searching the woods for my ball.
I could practice eight hours a day for the rest of my life and I still couldn't approach your ability on the golf course, Michelle, but for just a little while, you and I were kindred spirits. I know you'll never admit it, but the words your mom told you never to say that were floating around in your head Monday are the same ones that occasionally make their way out of my mouth on the course.
So good luck in the future, Michelle. I know you are destined for bigger and better things in the world of golf. Female Tiger Woods and all that. But don't forget you're part of a big (excuse the pun) club. We don't have membership cards or anything, but I'm sure you'll learn the secret handshake at the next meeting.
Hey everyone, I know it must seem like I've dropped off the face of the earth, but it's nothing like that.
I've been busy writing - two full-length novels so far, plus over a dozen short stories - and working hard to try to get an agent. If you are curious and have a few minutes, check out my website, www.allanleve rone.com.
If you're a literary agent or if you know one, by all means contact me! In the meantime, I'll be here when I can - love this forum - and as always, thank you for checking out my blog, especially considering how many great ones you could be reading instead....
