I might add that it was before the cataract operation and before I'd paid four hundred million dollars for the new hearing aids that worked.
Everything I did seemed to go right that day, although I hardly saw any of it. A lot of the conversation went like this:
"Where'd my drive go?" I would ask.
One of my kids: "It's in the fairway."
Me: "You're kidding!"
Then I'd hit an approach shot somewhere.
I'd ask, "Where'd I wind up?"
My friend: "It's on the green?"
Me: "It's where?"
My friend: "IT'S ON THE DAMN GREEN!"
Me: "Really?"
It was somewhere on the back nine that my oldest son, Marty, a pretty good player, said in utter disgust, "Can you believe this? He can't hear and he can't see, but he's on the green and I'm in the river!"
They say I broke 80 that day. I said I'd take their word for it -- and might even play again sometime.
One thing I know for sure. Going back 10 or 12 years, I'd never have swung another golf club if I hadn't taken the advice of my cardiologist.
The two best things I could now do for my heart, he said, were one, stop getting so hot at three-putts, and two, stop cussing traffic. I've done it. Life is good in the declining years.
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