THE ROUGH
A cool breeze blew out of the west, carrying with it a soft kiss of moisture that cut through the pressing summer heat. It would probably bring rain before too much longer, but for now it was just a sweet relief.
I stepped up to the fourth green and lined up my shot, pushing the tee gently down into the dry surface of the green. It had been a hot summer so far, the hottest I could remember, but that didn't keep me off the course. I was a golfer after all, and a horrible one, so the more practice I could get, the better off I would be.
I lined up the shot, my eyes focused intently on the ball, then quickly glanced towards the distant flag fluttering in the soft breeze. It was a little over 250 yards, but it was also downhill. I could conceivably get on in one, I just needed to remember what I had been taught.
I lined my feel up, toes lining towards the distant pin. I kept my arms straight, and my head down and took a few confident, and comfortable, practice swings. It was feeling pretty good. I nudged forward a bit, lined up the shot again, then wiped the back of my hand across my sweaty brow. This was the big moment, the chance to get on in one, and hopefully a birdie. I was only two over par, and this would get me caught right up.
I lined up the shot, raised the driver, and swung. It was a big miss, but I was able to pitch it to my friends as a practice shot; fully intended for sure.
I made great gestures to pretend that it was all as planned, that I had wanted one last practice swing. I stepped back up to the tee and repeated my mantra: arms, knees, feet, focus.
I swung the driver down again, and heard the satisfying 'ting' of a well-connected shot. I realized too late that the only problem with my shot, was that I had an eye on the ball already. I watched as it slowly swung off into the trees to the right of where I wanted it to go.
I was in the rough again, where I played my best game, if only by default...
