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"Did that old fella just birdie the first two holes?"

"Did that old fella just birdie the first two holes?"

“Did that old fella just birdie the first two holes?”  That’s the incredulous query that that sat in my brain balls as I heard the Titleist 3 drop into the cup on the second green of a beautiful par 4 in Gulf Shores, AL.

First, a little back story.  My girlfriend’s family has made it a tradition to rent a beach house every few years on the Gulf of Mexico.  This past March I was lucky enough to be invited.  I know what you’re saying, “Bobby, put a ring on it!”  Don’t pressure me!  You’re not my mom…or are you?  Anyway, the plan while south of the Mason-Dixon line was to golf at least 36 holes.  I was really jazzed.  I borrowed my brother’s Callaway X-20 irons and was ready to destroy the ball off of the tee with my Adams driver.  That was my hope anyway.  Needless to say the “destroying” of the ball turned into the seeding of multiple deep craters I caused in the fairway and tee boxes because apparently I close my eyes when I swing and try to beat the ball like it called me chubby.  I’m on Weight Watchers you stupid ball!

Anyhoo, I was excited to shake off the winter madness in icy Minnesota and enjoy some mid-70’s weather in scenic Gulf Shores.

The first day on the links our foursome consisted of me, my girlfriend, and her brother and father.  I crapped the bed with a 105.  The others did much better.  The next day my girlfriend decided to hang out on the beach instead of going golfing.  She’s a really selfish person.  Don’t tell her I said that.  It would just be the three gentlemen this day.  The three amigos!  I was the only one who kept insisting we call ourselves that.

Since we only had three a single golfer joined us.  His name was Glen. Glen was a retired insurance salesman from Milwaukee.  Little and round is the best way to describe him physically.  He was on holiday with his wife of a bajillion years, give or take.  He was a really nice guy.  He complimented my shoes.

The first hole was a par 4 dogleg right with water at the turn.  I destroyed my tee shot.  Long and straight(My guess is 843, give or take.) down the fairway.  Glen teed off with his Taylormade Burner and went straight and about 185 yards.  I sent my second shot somewhere into the Gulf of Mexico.  Glen was on in 2 with about a 3 feet left to the hole.  He putted in for birdie.  He gingerly leaned down to fish his ball out of the hole and pooped back up with a self assured half smile and pleasantly said, “That won’t happen again.”  It did.

The biggest thing I took away from the clinic that Glen put on is that you don’t need to be angry at the ball to send it where you want it to go.  Glen never hit long, but he always hit straight and, I mean always.  That dude was the most consistent golfer I have ever seen.  His tempo was incredible.

So thanks Glen for showing me you don’t have to be in great shape to golf well.  I’m going to go get another pizza.


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