- Publisher: Southern California Golf Association
- Edition: JANUARY 1, 2016
The Golf Gods come straight outta the Old Testament, imposing fire, brimstone and shanks. A polytheistic group, their ranks include tricksters and sirens, prone to drop a rare long putt simply to ensure continued play and consequent suffering. And they grow particularly cruel when age starts turning every par 4 into driver, three-wood and wedge.
Indeed, a friend in his late 70s plays the exact same series of shots over 18 holes, with only a few yards variance, five days a week. He seems not to notice the crushing redundancy, but it’s like Bill Murray in Groundhog Day, perdition on earth. It’s also an alarming foreshadowing, as the years creep into my fade-plagued game.