Op Bevroren Blog

Dit was opmerkelijk voor me omdat about� � de jaar van � zeven of tien geleden ik een profitable golfing hartstocht � had verlaten. Once upon a time I could step up onto a first tee and plausibly forecast a round in the high 70s. But as day-consuming time commitments and mortgage-like outlays for regional golf invaded, I grew weary, and impoverished, and simply stored my old blades in the basement. But something about the plottings of this Labor Day weekend occasioned an oversized reigniting of my dormant passion for the links. In mid-August I successfully shopped on eBay for the set of irons I’d always wanted (Mizunos). I stood in my home on evenings the past two weeks and for the first time this decade waggled my new clubs at address positions. It was, in ways only golfers know, exciting. 

I played this weekend and I played very poorly, but I was grateful to be playing again. My college chums and I talked about future outings, together, in summers ahead, ones laden with banter of the good old days and winks related to the attractiveness of beer cart girls serving us cold ones.       

On Tuesday evening an OFB colleague rang me, seeking me as a sounding board for a file he was drafting.

“Where are you, at home or in the office?” he asked.

“I’m at the driving range,” I replied. He was startled. So was I.

As I pounded balls in mildly successful corrective passes on another gorgeous Indian summer night Tuesday I thought again about my renewed passion. Passions, actually. Now is the time to play golf, I thought. In another couple of weeks I’ll be too busy covering training camp, and then next spring, that season of hockey ridicule for a few local columnists (the only time of year they generally mention hockey — to remind us of the local team’s shortcomings), I also expect to be too busy covering hockey — local hockey — to play golf.

So I purchased another bucket of balls.