The Miracle on 18th

Ok, this probably won't excite you readers as much as it excited me, so feel free to completely skip this post, especially if you don't care for or understand golf. Alot of the story looses its luster when you aren't actually there to experience it.

Since the New England winter left, I've been trying to play a round of golf once a week. I caught on to golf shortly after a former boss in Utah bought me a set of golf clubs. In Arizona, I would probably only play 4 or 5 rounds of golf per year, but would hit at the driving range a few times per month. But in order to get any good at golf, you need to play actual courses more often.

Every golfing excursion this year so far has been with Scott, a friend of mine since high school. Together we've played about 7 or 8 rounds of golf already at various places including Green Meadows Golf Course, Campbell's Scottish Greenlands, and Windham Country Club. I'm not a good golfer by any stretch, but I think it's fair to say I'm decent. To me that means I will hit some beautiful tee shots, only to follow it up with putrid iron shots, or vice versa. To hit great consistently is what separates decent golfers for the likes of Tiger Woods or Phil Mickelson. For your information I average about 105.

To make things more interesting during this most recent round of golf, Scott and I decided to make a friendly wager and put a prime rib dinner on the line. The bet: Scott gave me 5.5 stokes for the round, since he is a little better than me and usually scores about 5 strokes better than me. So, if Scott shot, say, a 100, I would need to shoot a 105 or better.

I will skip the details of the first 17 holes. As we were about to tee off for the 18th and final hole, Scott had a 8.5 stroke lead on me and was playing much better than me the entire day. To make a long story short, the 18th hole would be my last attempt to make up a seemingly impossible spread of 4 strokes (remember I had 5.5 strokes as my handicap). Fortunately, I saved my best golf of the day for the last hole. Scott did not.

I would love to try to elaborate on the details of this 18th hole, but it suffices to say that I ended up paring the par 5 after I drained a tough 15 foot putt! Scott, shot a 9, his worst score on a hole that day! To make matters worse for Scott, on this particular day we played with 5 other members of his family. All witnessed first hand the miracle on 18th!

My prime rib was delicious, and was made even more delectable knowing that Scott would cover the tab. To make things fair, I offered to choke on my prime rib so Scott and I would both have a good choke for the day. He didn't find it amusing.