Today, dear reader, I muse. I muse about a love affair that has consumed me for a good part of this summer. The beginning of the summer saw me and my unwilling mistress spend a lot of time together. I put a lot of effort in this affair, but the effort was rarely returned with the same enthusiasm. I sometimes wonder if I should have seen the writing on the wall much sooner, but my love was such that I continued to pour my body and soul into her. And yes, dear reader, I spent a lot of money on her. And as much as she continued to expect me to lavish her with monetary gifts, she never once gave anything substantial in return. She would tease me here and there, but not once did I feel appreciated. And so, dear reader, I need to ask a question of my mistress. And I need to do this in a very public way, for it seems the only way she will listen, although I do not expect her to answer. She’s fickle that way. And so I ask “Ah golf…why do you hate me so?”
I suppose it would be easier to deal with her if she wasn’t adored by so many people. And the more people that spend time with her, the happier she is. She will never be a mistress for just one. I refer to her as the mistress to the masses. But she holds a powerful sway over each and every one of us. And in some form or another, she is in our hearts. I’ve tried to leave her, but she draws me back. She won’t let go.
Yes, dear reader, golf is an affair of the heart. For some, it is a casual affair. For others, it burrows down deep into the heart. I suppose I fall into the ‘casual’ category, and maybe that is my mistake. For this particular mistress demands more time than I am willing to spend with her. And although she doesn’t always need me to spend a pile of money on her, she does expect that every time I see her, I spend something. She also doesn’t like it when I drink in her company, although it is a common practice. Most everyone I know can’t help but drink when with her…such is her personality. Aye, the more I drink in her company, the more she seems to hate me. I try to control it, but she frustrates me.
Alas, I must admit that my frustration is most likely due to my own failure to do exactly as she expects. When she expects a 3, I give her a 4 or even a 5. When she expects a 5, I throw up a snowman. She demands that I be a straight shooter, but inevitably I veer either to the right or the left. But honestly, dear reader, it’s not all my fault. She doesn’t make it any easier for me, what with all the trees and long grass she throws into my path. And I can hear her evil laugh every time we are in the water. Or the sand.
The very afternoon of this writing, I gave her one last chance. I gave her the opportunity to repay me in a meaningful way. But alas, she threw back her head and scoffed. Oh, along with the scoffing she threw me a brief glimpse or two of how much she wants me. But I was not fooled, dear reader. She really doesn’t like me that much. And so I told her that our affair had run its course. I was calling it quits. I am done with her, dear reader. I cannot, in good conscience, continue to see her. I don’t see it ending well if it continues. And thus we part. Not as friends, but as enemies. For on the final 9 holes of the year, I shot a 51.
Ah, golf. Why do you hate me so much? See you next year.