Improving the Lie

*Updated from the website archives, and blogger's note: yes, that's me...almost 29 years ago, playing in my first company golf tournament...shot a score that would be semi-respectable at a bowling alley...and this tweren't one*

For those of you who've never experienced the pure joy of the game of golf, don't worry; neither have I. Twenty-nine years after having first picked up a club, I'm still in awe of those who know how to make 'em work. Not that I haven't learned a lot about the game over the passage of time; it's just I haven't yet converted most of the cerebral knowledge into something useful on the course.

Other than the colorful metaphors, and I didn't need golf to master those.

In the fall of '05, my current employer held an annual golf tournament for employees, at an unnamed golf course in SW Denver (the course has long since had time to recover and return to a more pristine condition in our wake). As in previous years, the tournament was designed with golf-dysfunction in mind: it was a four-person team, best-ball scramble format. In essence, each person hits from the same place; the best resulting shot is picked, and the whole team repeats from that point. The idea is for a team of four to try to make, collectively, one Tiger Woods or Annika Sorenstam.

Our team was lucky to produce a combination of Bill Murray and Gilda Radner.

The team I was recruited for, was a mixed bag of skill and gender: one member was an ex-NFL back-up defensive end, who could hit a golf ball with sufficient force to skin it; unfortunately, his aim didn't match his power. Two others -- our female contingent -- were experienced company tournament golfers, both of whom could be counted on to not lose sight of the objective or their golf shots (since they only hit them a few yards at a time).

And of course, there was moi: the only person I know who's hit himself with his own drive, three times.

I won't at this point go on to regale you with a plethora of golf terms and what they mean, such as divot, bogey, improving the lie, wedge and *@#$*! Instead, I'll opt for an ESPNesque Worst Moments In Company Golf, as performed by our foursome*:

- on an early hole, I amazed my teammates and myself with an incredible (for me) drive that drifted left, but landed in a playable position along a tree-lined pond. When all of a sudden, a weed-draped Swamp Thing emerged from the pond, snatched up my ball, gestured in a rush-hour-traffic-salute manner, and dove back into the pond. I know what I saw and am adamant about it, since the beer cart hadn't made it around to us yet. My teammates -- obviously with the sun in their eyes -- kept insisting that all they saw was the "splash".

- a couple of holes ran parallel to a major interstate highway. On one of them, our ex-NFLer shanked a thunderous drive into the highway, off a sign, and back into a playable position on the course. Not on the right hole, to be sure; but we weren't standing on ceremony. Nor did we let the 30 vehicle pile-up delay our accelerated progress to the next hole, as we pointed suggestively at the foursome behind us. I think they made bail in time for the awards ceremony.

- one of our female teammates set, we were sure, a Guiness Book of World Records for 'whiffs', while she had to listen to a baseball recitation.."she's got the sign...here's the pitch...swing and a miss on a change up high and away...". She took the equivalent of nearly half an inning before finally dribbling the ball about six feet. A number of times.

- our other female had a similar experience with 'whiffinitis', while she was subjected to my pathetic imitation of Bill Murray from Caddy Shack. I think she missed 8-9 times before making solid contact with her five-iron. The imprint in my forehead healed in about 10 days.

- when the beer cart finally did catch up to us (and the team in front of us), I told the beer babe (and was she ever...*sigh*) that the hotel shift manager (in the other foursome in front) would give her $1,000 cash to trade us carts. I think he's still sore at me for the beer that shot out of his nose at hearing that, but it got a smile for me from the beer babe. *Sigh*

- on another hole, I unleashed another uncharacteristic thundering drive (for me), that went so high, two passing F-16s from the Buckley Air National Guard base gauged it as 'hostile' and destroyed it in flight with a missile. Naturally, my teammates wouldn't admit seeing the 'flash' overhead and resulting debris; they only saw another "splash" in another water hazard. Seems only I could hear Swamp Thing, laughing hysterically a few holes back.

- finally, on the next-to-last hole, our "manimal" ex-NFLer fired another skin-peeler drive, very nearly cutting a golf cart -- bearing our corporate hR manager -- in half. When the general manager heard of this, he sternly upbraided our "manimal" to practice in the off-season, closing with "Don't miss the next time".

In the end, we didn't do too bad: a five-under-par 67 on a very tough golf course, with no ambulatory casualties amongst the direct participants. On the other hand, we found that we had more to learn on the intricacies of 'improving our lie', scoring-wise. We placed fourth -- out of six teams.

Of course, as experienced golfers know, there's all sorts of ways to 'improve your lie' regarding the game of golf. And as most wives and girlfriends will agree, about none of them work.

* perhaps with a wee bit of mild embellishment here and there; but sadly, not much...