My 30-year-old secret

I'm not sure where this post is going to go, how it will end, or how long it will be.  But it's a long-time coming, and hopefully will allow me to sleep better at night.

In 1982 and 1983, on my high school golf team, I was accused of cheating. I'm here to say, finally, that I did.

I don't mean to excuse it, so I hope it doesn't appear to be my purpose from my words.  But I need to say it, and I need to say that at the very least, I have been able to live with it only because I know these things:

1) It did not help me earn a spot on the roster, and thus didn't cost anyone else a spot.

2) I never cheated in a match or practice round; only in the two rounds I'm about to share.

3) I learned a great deal from it.

4) As much as the words the accusers used against me hurt, I've beaten myself over it many times over. 

Yeah, I'm basically saying in that last part that having beaten myself up over a couple childhood mistakes makes me feel better.

So here's the story, and while it's a long one, it's late, I'm tired, and I really don't want to spend a lot of time on it because, frankly, it might hurt.  To quote a fake Yogi Berra axiom, I'll be brief for as long as can. 

In my junior year of high school, I tried out for the golf team.  I had played slightly-above bogey golf at times, and heard that would be good enough to at least not get cut, which is all I really hoped for.

Due to a misunderstanding of the rules, my entire foursome's scores were kept by me in the one-round qualifying round.  Not one of us had previously played on the golf team, and we somehow all apparently missed the part about each person keeping another's scores (and then later both signing and attesting).

At some point in the round, having not taken it seriously I guess, we were getting loose with the rules. Yes, the whole group.  I don't even really remember in what ways (Mulligans? Foot-wedges?).  I do remember thinking afterward that I shouldn't  have done it, because even with the harshest estimates, I benefited myself by about, but no more than, 6 strokes.  So my final of 91, which should have been a 97 at worst, was nearly enough to contend for a spot on the varsity. I got away with breaking the scorekeeping rule only because the whole group misunderstood, and the coach asked us each if we were comfortable with the integrity of the scores. We all answered in the affirmative.

Of course, it was not a 91, but it didn't need to be to achieve all I really wanted: to not get cut.  As I recall, 103 was the cut line to at least get to practice for a spot on the JV team. One other in our group "scored" well enough, with a 102. I don't know that he ever even showed up for more than one practice after that. Yes, we all played "loosely," but only two made the cut. 

While I didn't make the team because of the cheating, I sure paid for it.  At the preseason banquet, someone asked me what I shot.  "Ninety-one," I said.  "Oh!" was the reply, with a slight nod.  Then I heard another say, under his breath, "He cheated his ass off." Some soft laughter followed.

In some ways, I don't know if I've ever recovered from that comment.  Golf is such a game of confidence and mental toughness, yet those words live with me nearly everyday - everyday for sure during golf season. Self-doubt has been something I've never been able to fully shake, for more than four or five holes anyway. 

My first two practice rounds of 9 holes after the qualifying were identical: 59. One was with the coach, probably to keep an eye on me.  I can't imagine what he must have thought at that point. True, I wasn't that good yet, but I was no 59-shooter.  But my mind was an absolute mess.  Why I didn't quit after that, I still don't know. Probably too stupid to.

Every morning, the coach would put out either the practice schedule or match schedule of the day.  He'd give everybody a chance now and then to practice and improve, so they could possibly earn a JV or Varsity roster spot in a match.  I'm not sure when it started, but someone, or more, started writing "he cheats," or "cheater" next to my name when I had a chance to play.

I don't recall much about the weeks ahead, but gradually, I started to play better, even earning a spot in JV matches. Yes, it was honest, 100% so, practice or match. At the end of the year, our JV team finished 2nd in a final JV tournament.  One of our players, today a somewhat well-known figure in Minnesota Hockey in fact, won medalist honors with an 84 at Majestic Oaks' Platinum course.  Despite at least two "snowmen" on my card, I shot a 92. 

"He's really improved," I overheard one team member tell the coach.  That meant a lot.  He was one who played with me during one of my 59s.

So you'd think the next year, my senior year, I'd have learned my lesson.  Nope.  In the qualifying round, I shot a 94.  But it was really a 96.

I popped up a drive on the back nine, and found it embedded in the soggy, early-spring fairway.  Ignorant of the rules that would have allowed me to pull it and drop for free, I took two hacks at it.  I got it out on the third.  Because my playing partners had walked ahead, I flat-out lied and said I took two practice swings.

I was stupid enough to think that the guy I told this to bought it.  Today, I doubt it.  I do remember what I thought was a brief look of disgust on his face when I said it, but I suppose since he didn't actually see it, he figured he had to take my word for it.

Sad thing is, yes I cheated, but not only didn't I need to because of the again-generous cut line of over 100, I really didn't need to, because of the rules of golf.

Once again, the "cheater" claim greeted me virtually every morning that I was scheduled to play. One team member even confided in me that one other player, who wasn't having such a good year and thus not getting as many opportunities, asked the coach straight up: "Why do let all the cheaters play?"

"I'll let anyone play that I want to," said the coach, as I was told.

But this year I somehow managed to not regress in the first couple of post-qualifying rounds, probably because I had since learned the embedded ball rule, and felt less guilty about it. Yeah, it excuses nothing, but as a young mind and as immature as I was, I was desperate to find something to mitigate my lack of character.

I remember one day things really turned for the better. It was one of those very rare rounds (very rare for me, even today) in which I was unaware as to how well (or poorly) I was playing.  After finishing the ninth hole at Midland Hills Country Club, and the scores were tallied, I had shot 41 for the nine.  That earned me a spot in the next Varsity match.

I didn't play particularly well as the "sixth man," but well enough to hang around for two more matches, plus an 18-hole invitational.  A couple 45s and a 46 if I recall correctly (or perhaps a 45 and two 46s), and then a dead-last place 100 in the invitational at Hastings Country Club.

Something funny happened in one of those 46s. So self-conscious about playing by the rules, I got to the last hole pestering my opponent with a rules question, because there was no way in hell I was going to break a rule. Finally, at the green, with both teams watching, he said, "Just putt the ball, Ding Dong!"

You could hear the other players giggling and trying not to.  Sadly, and I do mean that, this incident may have won my team the match.  That same opponent signed an incorrect scorecard, having scored one more on that last hole than he signed for.  The way the scoring system worked, each team took its best five out of six scores.  His was thrown out, and their sixth man's was used, giving us the match.

The next day of play, and the last few times I got to play, instead of "he cheats" next to my name, someone put in the words "Ding Dong." It was an improvement.

My head hung pretty low after that 100, especially on the bus ride back, but I got over it eventually. I was ultimately beat out for a spot in regionals by the same guy who medaled at the previous year's JV tourney. I ended up earning my one and only letter in high school, and yeah, despite the guilt, I do feel I earned it.

And that's my story.  Amazing to me is how some of the details are so crystal clear in my memory, including all of the people I heard say things. I guess with that many emotional anchors to the events, many of the details became permanent staples in my brain.

Detail like one story about the guy who probably doubted my two "practice" strokes but said nothing. One day in our senior year I tried to playfully tease him about his previous day's 54 for nine holes. That would have been like another 59 for me, or worse, and in my senior season to boot. How did he take it? By wrapping his arm tightly around my neck, keeping me from breathing for several seconds, right in class.

Yeah, I could understand his lack of willingness to laugh it off, but I had gone through a helluva lot worse treatment than he did from my poor and ill-advised attempt at friendly jabbing, regardless of how much I brought on myself. 

In addition to the four points noted above, I would add these mitigating factors, not as excuses, but just in helping me cope over it all:

5) A playing partner and I witnessed someone else cheating in the "100" round, but we did nothing.  Doing something could have kept me from finishing dead last, but I didn't want to put him through the embarrassment.

6) Several years later, while playing with a friend and younger member of the same team, he confessed to me that he actually had cheated in a match.

7) The type of person I've become was at least in part shaped by my experiences over the two years on the high school golf team. I'd like to think for the better, as one motto I try to live by is to do the right thing when no one is watching.

Do I cheat today? In a match, MGA-sanctioned or otherwise event: never. I've called strokes against myself when I didn't have to as there were no witnesses. Not saying I deserve a medal...just saying.

When I play with friends, since I keep an MGA handicap, I still don't cheat, unless at least three conditions are met:

1) My buddies tell me to

2) It won't affect my GHIN index one way or another

3) Pace of play favors just moving on with the round

If they tell me to just take a drop when I've lost a ball, it gets sticky.  I typically add not one, but two penalty strokes, and almost invariably end up making at least my max double-bogey for Equitable Stroke purposes. I suppose one could say that ends up overstating my handicap, which is another form of cheating. Sorry, I won't feel guilty of the .02 strokes that artificially inflates it when we're trying to fight slow play in the world today.

Anyway, that's my "short, brief" confession.  It feels good.  I honestly thought I might get emotional typing it, but it was quite liberating.  I hope I didn't miss anything, but I don't really want to proof it other than a quick spelling check. I'll probably come back to it another day to make sure I didn't miss anything important.

If anyone is reading this, please, ask me follow-up questions. Full disclosure will give me closure. And thank you.

Ryder Cup

I sure do enjoy the Ryder Cup, although I tend to think along the lines of David Duval, who famously, or infamously, suggested it was just an exhibition several years ago.  Really, that IS all that it is.  How anyone can get super patriotic over the result of a competition in an elitist sport consisting of one dozen very wealthy members of one set of states versus another dozen very wealthy members of another set of states is beyond me.

And yet, I'm one of those who does.  Well, maybe it doesn't make me patriotic, but I do so want the Americans to win every time it's played.  Crazy, ain't it?  I can't wait!

Fenway Park and the Pebble Beach of The East

After checking StubHub nearly daily for over a month, I finally found five tickets that were decent enough, and reasonably priced enough, for the Boston Red Sox vs. Cleveland game May 10 at Fenway Park. Author Harvey Mackay once wrote, "A dream is a bargain at any price." So I could have spent more and justified it, but as I posted last month, I need to mind our budget.

I had a chance to buy a pair of State Street Pavilion Club tickets for $80 (face value is $170), but knew that my wife and I would likely be going to the game with her friend and her friend's kids. It wasn't easy to find five together that worked out price- and location-wise. Fenway Park is a "bucket list" item for me, but I wasn't going to settle for being 500 feet from home plate just to save a buck or two hundred. So for some $66+ per ticket after fees, we got our seats.

In fact, only four of them are together, and one is directly behind the four. I figure I'll take the one, while my wife catches up with her friend and helps with the kids. So that will be fine. I just won't be able to save their lives when a line drive comes their way while I'm watching every pitch, and they're comparing stories of motherhood.

My wife has interesting friends, in a good way. This particular friend happens to be a fairly recent Mrs. New Hampshire winner. Her husband is bass player for the metal band (or whatever genre you call their style) Godsmack, one of the few bands of their ilk that I quite enjoy.

(I don't think they'll mind my bragging about knowing them; I would guess that they pity me enough to offer their support.)

In fact, the idea was to get together when the band wasn't touring so that he could go, too, and when I reached out to her, she didn't think they'd be touring yet in early May. As it turns out, they are, and had I booked the trip for just a week later, their concerts would have been close enough to the Boston/New England area to meet up with the whole family. But I wasn't confident that I'd be able to find an open week to trade my RCI timeshare, as the Samoset Resort, where we're staying in Rockland, Maine, is pretty popular once spring gets going.

I'm pretty pumped for that part of the trip, too, as another "bucket list" item of mine is to play golf at Pebble Beach. Until I decide to take out a home equity loan to pay Pebble's fees (plus mandatory stay at the Lodge at Pebble Beach), Samoset, a.k.a. "The Pebble Beach of the East," will have to do. The sub-$100 greens fees make me smile, too.

Golf With Old Friends

I played my final round of golf for the year, most likely, yesterday with some old friends. We all worked in the same department at our present company over twenty years ago, on the lower rungs of the ladder in our respective fields. Today, one is a Vice President (with whom I actually had never been true "friends," but we have always been friendly, and played ball together for a few years), another a Director, another a Senior Database Engineer, and I, a Team Lead.

I'm the only one not still in Technology, and I sometimes wonder whether I should have stayed in that field. I didn't quite have the passion for technology that is required to excel, but I think now that I've seen how it affects other areas of our company, having worked in another area for 10 years now, I think I could. Problem is, 10 years of technological changes have passed me up.

I have also wondered whether I should have been more driven to put in 10+ hour days to try to climb the corporate ladder. My LSAT scores alone give me the confidence to believe I'd have enough smarts for it, but you need to put in the hours as well, even if partly for show. Not that my successful golf buddies are about show; they've truly earned it. But I've seen the show part work for others, to be sure.

Thing is, while I could envision myself finally, at age 45, go all out in investing in my career, I saw something on the golf course that makes me re-think that. During the round, all three others were checking their cell phones for work e-mails throughout the round, with the V.P. of course checking the most frequently, between literally every shot.

He is clearly a skilled golfer, which doesn't surprise me, as I remember the days we played softball together on the diminutive Duluth & Case fields in St. Paul in the late '80s (diminutive in that the fields overlapped to the point where outfielders in separate games would be facing each other....still hard to believe there was never a serious injury from that set-up). But his game was rusty, as it was only his fourth time out this year. I had been feeling sorry for myself for not having played as much golf as in past years, and that my handicap went up a whole stroke because of it, but I still got out for at least a dozen more rounds this year than he. And I wasn't checking my cell phone during any of them, either, other than to perhaps update Facebook to boast about being able to play golf.

Speaking of which, I posted the above photo on my Facebook wall. My caption read, "Missed my second career ace on the last round of the year, but tap-in birdies are always fun, and my back held up for 18!" Yes, my aching back made it, and more tellingly, didn't hurt the next day (today).

It's definitely a trade-off to succeed in the corporate world, something I learned quite early, and rejected for myself, but with a lot of second-guessing. I'm happy for my old friends' success and I hope to play more golf with them next year. I'm also happy that I know I'll be playing a lot more than they will, and that I'm OK with the trade-off.

My No-Show at the 2011 Minnesota State Mid Amateur Golf Tournament

For the first time in five years, I did not compete in the Minnesota State Mid Amateur golf tournament. Open to 240 golfers, with the top 60 (and ties) making the cut to the third and final round, it's a tournament I've come to look forward to every September.

This year, however, due to lack of consistency in playing frequency, which led to inconsistency in playing quality, I decided to pass. Plus, it was at a couple courses that I wasn't too excited to play - Dellwood Hills and Tanners Brook. I've only played Dellwood, a private course, once, and that was nearly 30 years ago. I've never played the other. Still, from word of mouth, I was OK with missing out. Not to mention I would have had to withdraw because of my back injury (which is still healing well, thanks).

Apparently, I wasn't alone. There were no fewer than 200 entries in the past four State Mid-Ams, but this year, unless I'm reading it wrong, there were only about 160, and several of them no-showed. It looks like a lot of the scores are missing from the first two rounds, but the cut line was a two-day total of 161, which happens to be one stroke higher than my lowest two-day total of the four times I've entered. So you're telling me I had a chance.... (Final Results here)

It's sad to see the drop in competitors, but I'm used to this kind of disappointment. The same thing has happened in bowling and softball locally. The state championship I was so proud to share in just ten years ago no longer even exists. The local Central Bowler's Alliance, which 20 years ago saw about 100 or more of the top scratch bowlers in the state (and some from surrounding states) compete every month. Nowadays, it's typically around 45 during "peak" season.

I'm sincerely hoping this year's drop in interest was for much the same reason I skipped it: apathy about the specific courses, and their less-than-exciting-or-convenient locations.

Next year's tournament will be hosted by Midland Hills and Town and Country. Midland is the home course of my high school alma mater, Alexander Ramsey (now Roseville Area), and the other is where my Vice President at work is a member. So I'll be looking forward to that one, and will try to train weeks in advance in a serious attempt to make the cut.

Both are centrally located, private courses, so there's no reason to expect the same apathy as this year from Minnesota's elite 30-and-over amateur golfers. But as Yogi Berra once said, if people don't want to come out to the golf course, how are you gonna stop them? (He actually said "ball park.")

If they don't come out, at least I'll have a better chance to make the cut, and the free round on a private course that would come with doing so.

"Just hop on my back...no wait, don't!"

It's been a roller coaster past few days for me. I was unable to fix our water softener, so I planned on taking it apart to give it one more try. "After the golf tournament, Dear, I promise!"

The golf tournament was Saturday. On Friday, I achieved a 24-yr-or-so goal of bench pressing 315 pounds - "three wheels" as my old lifting buddies and I would call it, because it represents three 45-lb. plates on each side of the lifting bar. A nice aside, I thought to myself, was that my joints and tendons felt terrific compared to the last time I got close to doing 315.

It was fairly short-lived, however. Oh, Saturday went great. My playing partner and I won the two-man best-ball tournament at Troy Burne Golf Club. I shot a plus-three 39 on the front nine, which included a triple bogey on hole 2.

By the ninth hole, my already iffy lower back started to hurt. I barely made through the round and didn't say a thing to my partner, not wanting to make excuses. I shot a plus-eleven 46 on the back. Thankfully, he shot 37, good enough to carry us to victory, like Kirby Puckett in Game 6 of the '91 Series. The old joke in such situations is to tell the guy who carried the team, "I sure hope your back doesn't hurt." Oh, but I wish I could say that mine did only figuratively.

While my back was hurting bad when we putted out, and I was looking forward to relaxing at home. But by the time I was done relaxing, my back hurt so bad, Felix Unger would've said, "Man, I'm sure glad I'm not you!"

Thankfully, it's getting better, although I did have to postpone my start to the 2011-12 bowling season. For a while Saturday, I was seriously wondering if I'd ever play any sports even semi-competitively again, including bowling. Ironic because I started lifting years ago to improve my softball power.

I'm still a bit down about it all, so to cheer myself up a bit, I'll post last year's league bowling results. I kept more complete stats, even frame-by-frame, but for now, I'll keep it simple below. I never got around to it this past spring, and then summer league went horribly (after a decent start), so I've been pretty down on bowling as well.

It was a good season last year, here's hoping my back, wrist, and fingers all get to nearly 100% by the time I get to start this season.

My Golf and Bowling Wishes/Fantasies

I played some golf this Labor Day Weekend in Alexandria, Minnesota. If I could only play one course the rest of my life, I might just pick the Alexandria Golf Club.

Speaking of impossible, hypothetical scenarios, I was reading the new issue of Golf Magazine, which has a reader survey full of such questions. One is, "Which Golf Superpower would you most like to possess?"

Here are the reader survey results:

1. Split every fairway with a 270-yard drive - 41%
2. Win every match you ever play - 27%
3. Make every 3-footer for the rest of your life - 26%
4. The ability to execute one hole-out every round - 6%

I would have to go with #3; that would leave the game's fun challenges left to the learning process, while adding the confidence needed to improve on them (imagine how confident you would swing the club knowing you'll never miss a 3-footer!).

Similarly, if I had one bowling superpower to pick from, it would be to never miss another single-pin spare again. Heck, I'd even settle for narrowing it down to the 10-pin. Same reasoning as the 3-foot putt fantasy.

If anyone is still reading this blog, I'd be curious to know what you would pick, and why?

Holding Ponds, Shelley Fabares, Loose Meat Sandwiches, and Uprooted Trees

My son and I have been back from our golf/nostalgia trip to Iowa since about 5:30 Monday evening. I've been wanting to turn around and head back since 5:31.

We arrived in Carroll at a little after 10:00 AM, pulling into the Municapal Golf Course around 10:30, hoping to get a round in. The annual Men's Club Tournament was going on, so we had to wait until about 11:15.

We had a bite to eat in the clubhouse, where I told my son his mother worked in the summer of 1997. I also told him the story of how I actually played in the Men's Club Tournament, also in '97. It was memorable because after an extremely disappointing opening 9 of 42 on the easier, par-35 side, I started the turn birdie-birdie-birdie-par-birdie, which remains the only time I've ever made three straight birdies. I parred the rest until 18, where I bogeyed, for a three-under-par "in" nine of 33. It gave me a 75, to barely qualify me for the Championship Flight on the following day.

Yeah, he was as excited to hear that story as you are to read it, no doubt.

The Carroll Muni, although still a bunker-less, hacker-friendly course with a rating of sixty-something, and a slope of 108 or so, is a much improved course from when I used to play it.

They did two things to make it so: 1) They started irrigating the fairways, and 2) they dug some trenches to create holding ponds, so that parts of the course susceptible to flooding would drain after heavy rainfalls.

I exaggerate very little when I say that had I known they were going to do this, I probably would not have left Carroll. Not that I wish I didn't leave...I'm just sayin'. They also remodeled the clubhouse, and added GPS to their carts - icing on the cake.

I finished with 75, the same score I shot that day in '97. Lowlights were a couple missed tap-ins. Highlights were my son birdying #2, and leading me by two shots after two holes, and my eagle on #8 after driving the par-four green.

Afterward, we checked into our Super 8, and headed over to the Carroll Country Club, a private course for the locals, but out-of-towners are welcome to pay daily greens fees. Highlights were a nice up-and-down birdie on #2, and meeting a nice young man who turned out to be the former pro at the Muni back in '97, and who, as a three-year-old, can be seen in a picture of my then-one-year-old daughter's birthday party at the Muni Clubhouse. I told him to say hi to his dad from me, but didn't remember the birthday party photo until later.

After the second round of golf, I caught up with my former radio station program director, who had just finished calling one of the local high school's girls' softball team's games, a lopsided playoff win. We chatted and he invited me to the station, where he was heading back to return the "Marti," which is the piece of equipment used to transmit the broadcast back to the station.

Seeing the new studios and equipment was cool. Seeing enough had not changed so that it felt like home was very cool, including the old, autographed Shelley Fabares picture (not THAT old - it was from her "Coach" days, not her "Johnny Angel" days).

Day two, I let my son drive the 110-or-so miles to Marshalltown. We were pretty hungry by the time we arrived, so I took him to a lunch I knew he'd never before experienced, and may not again for many years to come. I took him to Taylor's Maid Rite.

The loose meat sandwiches were as yummy as I recalled, and the malts, which were new to me there, were a nice surprise. My son enjoyed them too, much to my delight, not unlike a father first sharing a White Castle with his son, hoping his son would, to, learn to love the sliders.

As we did in Carroll, we then drove around to see the places we lived while there. It was the first year of his life, so he wouldn't remember, but he seemed interested in some of the story-telling.

Our first place of residence was humble, largely because I had driven into town after his mom and were just married, to find a place to move into quickly and that would allow pets. So humble was it, that when I pointed out the house to him, he said, "We lived in THAT?!?"

"No," I said, "That is the house our neighbors lived in. The house behind it, which was once-upon-a-time the neighbors' guest house, is where we lived. See that "203 1/2" on it? It doesn't even have a whole number for its address!" Some young woman was unloading stuff from her car, and I thought to myself of the dreams she must have about someday moving up.

We then checked into the Marshalltown Super 8, which was, curiously, about $20 cheaper. I suppose because it was Sunday. From there, I called the pro shop of the number one public golf course in Iowa, The Harvester. Harvester is located near Rhodes, which is just down the road from Carroll.
I exaggerate very little when I say that had I known they were going to build that course, I would not have left Marshalltown. OK, I'm exaggerating a little bit more this time. It's a great course to live nearby, but it's high-end price ($79 for twilight rates is what we paid, which included range balls and carts), probably would have kept me from playing it more than a couple times a year, especially on a small-town disc jockey's pay.

The course lived up to its billing. If I played it enough to learn it a little better, it could become my favorite. Highlights of the round were parring the 530-yard, par-four 16th (that is not a typo), and parring the par-five 18th after hitting my second shot into the water from 221 yards (I dropped, hit the next shot to about 10 feet, and made the putt. Dang, coulda been an eagle!) Lowlights were our scores on some of the other holes, and my forgetting to bring my SkyCaddie to the course.

We came back into town, drove around a bit, grabbed some KFC, and went back to our motel room. It was a strange evening in that the power in the motel went off about three times, each time being restarted quickly. The evening would become stranger.

I was awoken at about 4:25 by the most intense electrical storm of which I have ever been in the middle. For a solid half hour it was steady flashes of light, rumbling thunder, and whistling howling wind. Oddly, the power was still on throughout much of it, until finally it went out again, not to come back on until after we left the next day, and this time it was the whole town's power. Below is a screen capture I took of the storm on weather.com, just after the worst of it was over, and just before the power went out for good.

We toured the town Monday, finding at a minimum fallen branches and leaves on ever street, and at a maximum large limbs and even uprooted trees. One house I remembered from long ago, not far from the old guest-house/shack, had a tree fall right into its roof and its neighbor's roofs, causing large holes in both.

I had driven by it only out of curiosity because I remembered it was a nice, little house in a mostly-modest neighborhood, and was for sale in 1995 for $97,000, very high for a house of its size in that neighborhood back then. I was told that it was because of the immaculate condition and amount of wood in the interior that made it worth every penny. I only knew from the brief time my then-wife and I were looking at houses in Marshalltown, prior to our move to Carroll. I found it a little strange that I was so saddened to see it damaged like that, more so than I was at any of the other houses.

I could go on for much longer about every little detail, for every little detail that I can remember will be remembered with absolute fondness. But I'll just wrap up by stating the obvious: it was a terrific extended weekend of father-son bonding, and went much, much too fast. Next time I visit either or both towns (I hate when people use "either" to mean "both"), I hope to visit more of the people with whom I used to work, as many of them still work at the radio stations.

Who knows? I recently joked with my former P.D. that I hope to "retire" in about ten years, working only enough to get by, and in a job I truly love, so I might be looking for a part-time gig with him someday. It's been fourteen years since I've been in my last dream job. Perhaps it's only ten more years away.

Better Late Than Never

I'll never be in the running for any kind of "Father of the Year" award. One small piece of evidence is the fact that the thing I am so looking forward to this weekend is something most fathers with grown sons have done many times over.

My 17-year-old son and I will be going on our first-ever extended trip together - just the two of us. By "extended," I mean "more than a long day."

What's more, we will be visiting the places he spent the first three years of his life. If all goes well, we will visit Marshalltown, Iowa (year 1), and Carroll, Iowa (years 2 & 3), and will play plenty of golf during our stays.

Carroll is where he first swung a club on a course, at age two. The beauty of a small-town municipal course is that no one discourages you from bringing a two-year-old, as long as it's during slow hours, of course.

By the time he was three, he had as sweet a swing as a certain child prodigy and eventual philanderer. That's no exaggeration. Today, his 30-or-so-handicap swing is better than my USGA-5.3-index swing. His game only suffers from a lack of playing, and a lack of watching or otherwise following golf with any real amount of interest. You can blame that on his parents' splitting up before he turned six.

If we find time, we will visit the ICU in Des Moines, where he spent the first two months of his life, having been born two months early, and at a size of a three-month premie (2 lbs., 7 oz., to be exact). Most babies born that prematurely show some physical challenges as they grow: some as minor as having to wear thick glasses at an early age, others more advanced. We got remarkably lucky with him; he has shown no physical or developmental signs ever, but for a slightly less-than-average height.

When he was born, it was a crapshoot as to whether he would survive, but I dreamed of the days we would be able to do things like this. I never would have believed that it wouldn't happen until he was 17.

Also exciting is that ever since a couple weekends ago, when we played a round together in Alexandria, Minnesota, he has taken a greater interest in golf, perhaps because he has finally realized that he may have some potential in the sport (yes, sport). It will be interesting to see how much he improves even over the three days we are together, as we will play up to five rounds, weather permitting. That's more golf than he has played in the last two-plus years combined.

But even if we only get one round in, it isn't all about that. It's about the quality time, and going back to the places we spent a lot of it, 14 years, and then some, ago.

Four Times Better Than a PGA Tour Pro

In the Valero Texas Open PGA Tour event today, Kevin Na took a 16 on the par-4 ninth hole. The company I work for had its national sales meeting at the JW Marriott in San Antonio, where the TPC Courses are located. One "networking" activity was a golf scramble, during which I played the same TPC San Antonio course Na and the rest of the tour pros are playing this week.

I don't remember much about hole 9, but I do know my scramble team started on hole 7 and we were even par through several holes. So we parred hole 9, and I think we may have even used all of my shots, at least up until the par putt.

So at the very worst, I can say I would have scored no worse than a bogey 5. Of course, we played tees some 50 yards closer, but still...

To Na's credit, except for that hole, he was -4 for his round, which, had he parred the ninth, would have left him one stroke behind the leaders on the difficult new Greg Norman design.

I remember a couple similar rounds I've had in the past, although both were only 9-hole rounds. Once in Carroll, Iowa, I shot 42 on the par-35 front nine, which included an 11 on the par 4 fifth hole. It was a horribly windy day, and I managed to play -1 for the other eight holes.

Similarly, in a work league a few years ago, I took a 12 on the par 4 sixth en route to something like a 43 on the par-35 front nine at Southern Hills in Farmington, Minnesota. I was either even or one over for the other holes, and it too was a windy day.

I only bring up those memories to remind myself how much better Na handled his 16 today. If you haven't seen it on the sports highlight shows, here's a hint: Much better than I. (And I didn't handle them well.)

Getting ready for bowling season

Historically, I've generally been a slow starter in my bowling seasons, mainly because I would rarely touch a bowling ball all summer. This year I'm making sure I go out a few weekends before league starts. We'll see how that works out, but I hope it doesn't hurt the golf game, what with the state Mid Amateur tournament coming up in three weeks. I'd sure hate to ruin my chances of missing the cut by less than ten strokes.

I took the kids to Cedarvale Lanes this past weekend. My son took a couple of poor quality (cell phone) videos. For the most part, I like what I see, but it seems I'm lofting more than I did when I was younger. I suppose it could be age, maybe my reaction to how the lanes were responding, or it could be that I'm throwing with more ball speed than I used to, and to do it I feel the need to really heave it out there.

Regardless, it's something I'll look at working on, at least to be versatile enough to lay it down more gently when the lane patterns call for it.

I'll try to post the videos when I can figure out how to convert them to a file blogspot recognizes. Next time, I'll try to get our video camera for better quality shots, and thus better quality analysis.