I played a lot of golf this weekend, 18 holes with Dan at Bowie CC and 18 with Mark and AM at Glen Dale. I normally don't to play so much in a month, much less a weekend. Both times I was lousy on the front nine and much better on the back: 64/51 & 63/50. or something like that.
When I started playing golf I got the pretty colored balls specifically marketed to women. They had a clear cover over a pastel color which made them "sparkle." I loved playing with them, and for some reason I found them easier to find than the white balls. Maybe it was the "sparkle." I never hit the ball so far I couldn't find it, but occasionally I did. I hated losing these balls, it broke my heart, it felt like a piece of my soul was forever drowned in a water hazard or lost in the woods never to be found again. OK, OK, I'm being overly dramatic, but still, you get the idea, I hate losing golf balls.
(When AM and I were in Florida I lost my last two yellow balls, both to ball-eating trees, large palm trees with enough nooks and crannies to swallow more than just a few balls. Didn't matter how long I begged, the tree wasn't giving up it's new possession.)
On the other hand, or maybe I should say in the other hand, I often find other people's balls (OPBs) when I'm looking for my own. They were easy to identify, they were white, often with initials, dots, lines and other scribbles. This weekend I played predominately with OPBs. I didn't stress when then one got lost in the lake on No.4 at Glen Dale on Sunday. And it felt good not to stress over them. I almost don't want to put the last box of pink balls in the garage into my bag so I won't start stressing again. Who needs more stress?
I'm still doing the 'happy dance' over that 50 yesterday on the back nine. hee-haw!
1 year ago