 The crowd of Zinman Zealots suddenly hushes: Their hero is closing in on par. |
 A Duffer's Valiant Try for Valhalla |
After The Masters comes
the real duffers' world
of TheColumnists.com
Andy Warhol was prophetic when he said everybody has
15 minutes of fame.
What he meant was that everybody can hope to have a taste of
magic in his life--a few minutes when everything seems to go
perfectly. My golden time came the other day on the Conway (S.C.)
Golf Course.
And I thought it might be appropriate to tell about it now that spring has sprung and we're all still glowing from the Masters--and that amazing display by Tiger Woods.
First, you have to know that I am probably Conway's worst golfer. Well, maybe, that's being extreme. I play to a 19 handicap. That means if I do well, I score about 19 strokes over par--or 91. What cannot be disputed is that I love the game unconditionally. I practice golf, read about it, and dream about it. The only thing I can't do is--play the game.
Golfers scatter in the clubhouse whenever I come in looking for a partner. One man said--when he thought I was out of hearing range--if Zinman ever writes a book about what he thinks he knows about golf, he ought to call it, "Lining up the Third Putt."
Trees, sand, and water are like magnets attracting my ball. I hit so many in the woods, bunkers, and ponds, I start with a couple dozen balls in my bag.
Then came last Thursday. Roy Bradham, one of the few who will tolerate me as a partner (only because he is a true Southern gentleman ), agreed to go along for nine holes. It was almost 4 o'clock and that's all we had time for. The temperature was in the 60s. But a strong, shifting wind made playing conditions less than ideal.
I bogeyed the first hole. Then, as I stood on the second fairway 170 yards from a narrow green protected by a pond, I felt my confidence soar as my ball flew over the water and came to rest 10 feet from the hole. I went on to par number two.
Then, I parred the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth holes. Never before did I do that.
I was driving 200 yards down the middle. Every iron and fairway wood I hit found the middle of each green. Every putt stopped within two feet of the hole.
As we walked off the sixth green, Bradham advised me about what was happening. "You know you have parred every hole after the first," he said.
I shrugged off any hope of keeping the string going. I was aware of my history. My usual game includes one horrendous hole. That's where that great big bear lumbers out of the woods and jumps on my back. Somewhere along the way, I inevitably sky to a triple bogey or sometimes even hit double figures.
But on this day, the grizzly was nowhere to be seen.
In fact, I felt like I was in a magical zone. I began to believe that I could and would par every hole--even if I flubbed my tee shot. And I did on the next hole. It was the par three, 119-yard number seven.. My shot was pin-high but the ball spun sideways and came to rest 15 feet off the green. I chunked my chip. The ball moved only three feet. Even so, I took dead aim and sank a 20 foot-putt from the fringe to save par.
I went on to par number eight. Now, I stood one over with one to go--a 485-yard dogleg left.
"You need to birdie this," Bradham said. His thought was that if you come in one or two strokes over par, it was nice. But playing even par for nine holes, ah, now that was a feat every amateur golfer could be proud of.
I started off well. I striped my drive 220 yards to the right side of the fairway. I faded my three wood slightly, but still had a 145-yard straight shot to the green. I pulled out a five iron. The wind was blowing hard and coming into my face. I put the five back and took a four iron.
This was going to be the key shot. I made sure my grip was correct. I stood over the ball, aligned my stance, and aimed for a spot just before the green. I took a deep breath and took the club back slowly. I stopped for a split second at the height of my backswing, made good contact, and came through the ball
It was a pure shot, so crisp I did not feel anything. "Wow," Bradham said.
And then disaster struck. Even while the ball was in the air, my 15 minutes of fame ran out. And I knew it. After I hit it, I could feel a slight shock course through my body. It was telling me the magic was gone.
What happened was this: As soon as I hit the ball, the wind stopped. It did not just die down gradually. It stopped suddenly and entirely. It stopped cold. Not a breath of air. It was as if you were in a brightly lit room and suddenly somebody hit the light switch.
My ball landed in the middle of the green--about 20 feet beyond my target spot. It ran--hot--past the flagstick and rolled 20 feet into the rough.
I was still lying three.
I had a fast, downhill chip for a birdie. But I missed the pin
and ended up seven feet below the hole. My putt was wide, and
I took a bogey six. That left me two over with a nine hole total
of 38. A personal best for nine holes.
 |
when he comes as close to the gates of Golf Heaven as two over par. |
Bradham, who scored 41, congratulated me. But he knew--and I knew--I had come up short--two shots short of that magical even par.
To me, par golf remains the greatest accomplishment in the game--even greater than a hole in one. Anyone--even a novice--can score a hole in one with a little luck. But it takes more than a little luck to play even par.
The next day I played another nine holes. I did it as a test. I wanted to see if I could repeat my effort. I came in with a 48--10 shots higher--and was fortunate to get that. I was back to square one. I was my old self again--the same hacker nobody wants to play with.
So what is the moral of the story? Andy Warhol was right. The limelight does comes to everyone. It will come to you, too.
But don't be deceived.
Don't expect it to last. Enjoy it while you can.
© 2002 by David Zinman. The Zinman caricature is ©2001
by Jim Hummel. The other cartoons are from IMSI's Master Clips
Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506,
USA.
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