A Quick Round of Golf
March 15, 2001
Well, I finally had a day off recently and decided that I was going to blow off all responsibility and do something fun. A little fishing perhaps? Nah - I’d been working on the river a lot lately, so I figured it was time to give that sport a little break. And if you’re not going to go wet a line on a warm, early spring day, what’s the next best thing? A trip around the ol’ links, of course!
I used to really be into golfing but a car wreck in the summer of 1990 messed up my back for several years and I was forced to give it up. I’m happy to report, however, that in the ensuing years, I’ve healed sufficiently to get back into playing a lot of sports. For some reason, though, I never really went back to golf. I’ve played about once a year since ‘95 and at that rate, you can just imagine what kind of shape my swing is in. As I was to find out this week, the only thing that I haven’t forgotten how to do is slice. Oh, if only they built courses with all dog-leg right holes!
Unfortunately, I couldn’t find such an animal, so I decided to just play Campus Commons Golf Course, which is very close to home. It’s what even a fair golfer would probably describe as a “fun little 9-hole affair” or a “simple layout that won’t challenge you much, but, hey, at least you can play for about what it would cost to see a movie.” To my weak game, however, C.C.G.C. was a real monster.
Despite the weather, I virtually have the place to myself — a fact that probably spares the lives of several people and definitely saves me much public humiliation. As rusty as the Titanic and intimidated by the sand to the left of the green, I nervously size up No. 1 from the box. The flag stirs gently in the light breeze not 150 yards away, but it seems like a mile to me. I line up the shot and a fire.
WOOOOSH!
Strike one. Trying to be cool and failing miserably, I attempt to make the miss look like a practice shot. Yep, meant to do that!
Okay, let’s try this again. Take a deep breath and just let ‘er rip.
Though my eyes are closed and I take a huge homerun cut, I actually connect with the ball. Good news…this one doesn’t slice! Instead, it hooks like a Nolan Ryan curve ball and heads, at an alarming rate of speed, for the bike trail. A lucky deflection off a fence post on the left side of the fairway puts me smack dab in the middle of the short stuff, however, and I am able to hit a 9-iron onto the green. Three putts later, I realize that the green was quite a bit faster that it originally looked.
Number two goes a little more smoothly and, though I almost kill a woodpecker with my “dive,” I get home safely in 6. The par 4 third hole stretches 276 yards and I actually get up in three. The pin placement is a brutal one, however. Located at the summit of a baseball mound-like hill — it’s a three putt just waiting to happen. Or, in my case, a 5-putt. Speaking of bad things to come, it is here that I get my first glimpse of the ball-hungry American River looming in the background.
The 135-yard fourth hole is straight as an arrow — quite unlike my drive — with a little wood to the left and an O.B. concrete ditch behind it. The speed of the green is what gets me again and I write a very large number on my scorecard. Hole number 5 is where things really start getting ugly. At 187 yards, it’s a pretty direct route from tee to green with only a couple trees to the far left with which to contend. As one prone to slices, this hole scares the bejesus outta me, though. Along the entire right side of the fairway lies the river, barley a few feet away. I desperately try to tune out the sound of the rushing water as I take my practice swings.
Just aim way left…it’s going to be okay…
I’m holding my breath when I swing and am pretty sure I closed my eyes again just before impact.
SPLOOSH!
On the tee hitting three. Okay, so I hit the ball in the drink. I’m still alive…no biggie. WHACK…SPLOOSH! On the tee hitting…oh, nevermind. My third drive also splashes down, but then I top a beautiful worm burner right up the middle. Not pretty, but not wet either. A good approach shot and two putts later on the flat green, I salvage a…well, you do the math.
To my great joy, the 168-yard sixth hole sits well away from the water — where my slice could only carry me onto a bike trail that runs along the course’s northern border. Funny how things work — without any water to worry about, I hit a laser beam drive that lands about 30 yards left of the green, pin high. Unfortunately, the green here is guarded on three sides by a dense grove of oaks…one of which snatches my beautiful approach shot out of the air and promptly deposits my ball into some dense rough. The green is so slick it is a wonder I don’t three putt (again).
The 160-yard seventh hole at Campus Commons really separates the men from the boys. At it’s widest point, the fairway is only about 13 yards across. The river runs the length of the fairway’s left flank and tightly packed trees line the entire right side. To make matters worse, from the tee, I can easily see several balls dotting the bottom of the river. Like magic, the river transforms my slice into a hook and drive number one nearly kills another bird. This time, it’s a duck feeding in the river, about 25 feet off the bank. At this point, I’m beginning to think I have water issues. My second attempt starts left and then slowly begins to come back towards tierra firma…but falls short. The ducks really think I’m a psycho now and an entire flock gets up off the water and goes like hell over the horizon. My next shot is straight enough to stay on dry land and I make a beautiful chip from 40 yards to get within 15 feet of the cup. My downhill putt on the lightning-fast green goes 12 feet past the hole and my second shot runs back by it again. I drain a 7 footer and am happy to escape the seventh alive.
Number 8 is no slouch, either, and is basically just a longer and slightly wider version of the seventh hole. A dense line of trees runs down the left side of the fairway, and they could, possibly, kick a hooked drive back onto play. I hook my ball over the trees.
SPLOOSH!
My second tee shot also goes left but doesn’t quite make it to the river — it skips past a white O.B. stake and disappears over the bank and into the shoreline brush. I follow a well-worn path down the hill towards the water and immediately find a couple balls — neither of which belong to me — and I suddenly feel a little better. I’m not alone!
As I line up for an approach, I notice how lovely the eighth green is. It is set amid a grove of sentinel old growth cottonwoods, each with mistletoe clinging to the high branches. I can’t help but think, however, that the mistletoe signals the Kiss of Death for me and, as it turns out, I’m absolutely correct. I don’t even bother writing down a score on the card and simply limp down the homestretch.
The final hole at Campus Commons is a 172-yard par 3 that features some trees to the right and a pair of bunkers on either side of the green. My drive runs left and deep…way deep. In fact, it comes to rest in the middle of the first fairway and actually ends up being a better tee shot than I hit there earlier. From 75 yards out, I hit a 9-iron that lands right by the cup and rolls off the other side. I pick up my ball and throw it in the river.
I think I now know why I never got back into playing golf. Next time, I’m going fishing…
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