I love golf. There are times when I feel like golf doesn’t love me. Let the truth be told that over the years I’ve improved every aspect of the game by at least 10 fold. That now leaves me roughly 132,321 folds away from making the PGA tour.

At 23 years of age my current goal is to increase my playing ability so that I can qualify for the Senior Tour in 27 years. Sure, a lot can happen in 27 years right? I sure hope so.

As I said before, I love golf, but golf doesn’t love me. Where there’s thick rough there’s my ball. If you’re ever on the course and you see a guy buried up to his neck in a bunker then that would be me. When I’m hitting my shot the safest place to be is in the cup.

Earlier this year I was at a local course in my hometown. I approached the 6th tee with confidence. Confident that this hole might turn up a birdie, I positioned myself so that I was starring directly down the center of the fairway and unleashed a mammoth shot. The errant tee shot bounced off the cart path and came directly to rest behind an old cedar that was 20 yards off to the right of the fairway.

With steam coming from my ears, I proceeded down the right side of the fairway in disgust. Locating my ball would require a hunting dog capable of sniffing out a wayward ball or one of those guys on the course that wave the white flag when they have located your ball.

After some careful searching I found it. It was buried up to its head in heavy rough making it undetectable to the human eye. I sat my stand bag up and took my 6 iron out because this particular shot required a club with minimal loft. I stood above my ball have hunched over due to the low hanging tree limbs and lined up my approach shot.
Still having been angry with my tee shot I put my body in motion. With the powerful downswing I made contact. Following the contact was a large chunk of grass. The divot that was the size of Texas flew underneath the braches and came to rest on the fairway some 20 yards away. My ball however only traveled nine.

In an instant I became a mad man shouting obscenities that could be heard a hole over. Flowing that brief moment of insanity I did something that I never do. I refused to fix the hideous divot that was now some ten yards behind me. Come on, it was underneath a tree. Who, even in their best round, could land their ball in that massive crater anyway?

Well I almost did the second time around. I approached the tee once more. Knowing that I have a slice that I just can’t seem to get rid of, I aimed my club face directly at the same cedar from the previous nine and let it rip. I couldn’t believe my eyes. That Nike One actually flew straight for once then wouldn’t you know it. My shot came to rest a foot to the right of a huge divot that someone neglected to fix (I wonder who that person was?). What were the odds of that?

I might not be able to hit football sized fairways or greens the size of Rhode Island, but when it comes to placing a ball behind obstructions- I’m a sniper.
Haven’t I told you that I love golf?

It is the reason why I pester my wife so much. A little begging and hounding never hurts anyone. In the end I am able to tee it up at least once a week and with each outing there is always a slight improvement in my game.
Whether I am playing a round alone, or playing with a group, in my mind I am just as competitive as everyone out there and that is all I need to make it to the next tee.