Always room for redemption

Golf brings out the worst in me. It compels me to behave in ways that I would never advise my children to. You throw a little white ball in a beautiful surrounding and suddenly I am a depressed, rage full, egomaniac who believes that he deserves better then the score posted.

Why do I feel this way? Its not rational, its not healthy and it diminshes what would otherwise be a pleasant walk around the edge (and sometimes directly into) the woods.

I was recently playing a lonely 9 early in the morning. The sun was shining, a cool breeze was at my back and their was no wait time between shots. For those with a level head on their shoulders, this would be paradise.

Not me, at least not for a moment, when I topped a drive into the fescue. I, as is all too customary, wheeled back to throw my club at my ball in rage, I reached the apex of my back swing and then……I stopped. The club did not leave my hand, it dangled above my head begging the question of what the hell I thought I was doing.

I should not be proud of this moment, but I was. It was progress, not a lot, but in the world of shitty golf, I will take all the moments of redemption I can muster.